


Teenage Dream

by RobinLeStrange



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: 1991, F/M, Post High School, Pre-Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Summer in St Mawes, Teenage Cormoran Strike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange
Summary: For the prompt 'Friends' in the Cormoran Strike Fest of Firsts.Set in 1991, sixteen-year-old Cormoran Strike has just finished his exams and is looking forward to his first almost-adult summer in London, but his plans change and he finds himself back in St Mawes, dealing with changing friendships and a pesky little sister, whilst trying to make sense of his mother's developing relationship with Jeff Whittaker.
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert & Cormoran Strike
Comments: 84
Kudos: 29





	1. Joyride

Cormoran made his way along the platform at Paddington Station, easily clearing a path between the teeming crowds with his height and encumbrances. Boarding the train, he heaved the large holdall into the overhead storage and carefully hung the suit bag on the hook beneath. Thankfully, although the station was busy his train wasn’t, and he was relieved to be able to stretch out his long jeans-clad legs.

Most people, he mused, probably weren’t mad enough to travel to Cornwall by train, not that he had an option. Maybe by next year he'd be driving.

He rested his head against the glass window and sighed as the train pulled away from the platform. This was not how he had planned to spend his summer.

A few weeks earlier Cormoran had been eagerly anticipating his first ‘almost adult’ summer in London. He and his best mate in the city, Nick Herbert, had discovered during the weekend following the end of their GCSE exams, that they were tall, and in Cormoran’s case, hairy enough to frequent several local pubs and buy alcohol without question.  
Then there was Lisa Wilkinson, with whom he’d managed a thoroughly enjoyable evening of snogging (and a bit more besides) that same weekend. He’d had high hopes it might lead to more, at some point over the long summer break ahead of them.

Then Nick, who had his heart set in being a doctor, was offered a job portering at the local hospital, and Lisa stopped returning his calls and was last seen with her tongue down the throat of Ryan Woods, the school bad boy.

Making matters even worse was his mother, Leda’s announcement that her latest boyfriend, a truly abhorrent twenty-something by the name of Jeff Whittaker, was to be moving in with them. She’d met the ‘musician’ (Cormoran only every thought of him in those terms with inverted commas) through work, and Cormoran, well used to adapting to different people and situations, had never taken such an instant dislike to someone in his entire life.

He’d tried to reason with Leda, pointing out that Whittaker’s interests in the occult and Charles Manson were weird and creepy, his drug use was concerning and his treatment of her was not the best, to put it mildly. Finally, in desperation and much to Leda’s annoyance, he’d spat that she was twice Whittaker’s age, and did she seriously expect he’d be faithful when he was on the road with daft, nubile teenagers throwing themselves at him for whatever indiscernible reason?

Leda had swallowed her anger at her son’s rather personal attack and simply shrugged.

“I love him darlin’, one day you’ll feel like that about somebody.”

It wasn't the first time Cormoran had heard that phrase, but this time his patience deserted him.

“If it means I’ll put up with the kind of crap you do from him, I fucking hope not!” he'd shouted back, before storming out of the flat with a loud slam of the door and heading to Nick’s to spend the night.

When he’d returned the following day, there was letter awaiting him on the doormat, embellished with a Truro postmark and familiar neat rounded handwriting in purple ink. He grinned as he dropped into a battered armchair and tore it open.

_Dear Corm,_

_How are things with you? Hope your mum’s ok._

_I’m still seeing Lucy around a fair bit since finishing my exams. I don’t know if she’s written or called recently but she’s doing ok and has properly settled back in now, although I think she misses having her big brother around (not that she’d admit it!)_

_We’re all good. Mum is nagging me to try and get a summer job. I’ve made a few enquiries but you know what bloody St Mawes is like. I probably should have started asking around earlier. Might have to try Falmouth if I can get something that works around the ferry times._

_Anyway, I’m really writing to ask you a favour. You know we’ve actually managed to convince Mr Carey to let us have a school prom? Well, the plan was that me, Gwen and Penny would go together, but as you no doubt know, Penny is going out with Dave, and now bloody Gwen has copped off with Sean Martin, so there’s me playing the gooseberry!_  
_I was wondering if you’d come down and come with me? I’ve asked Carey as it’s supposed to be students only, and he’s agreed as you’re an ex pupil and ‘a good lad’!!! I thought it might be fun for you to see everyone before we all start going our separate ways to work and college too, although I’m sure we’re nowhere near as exciting as all your new London friends._

_I didn’t call you because to be honest I was worried you might think me asking you was a bit weird, but honestly, it would just be much more fun to have my best friend there._

_It’s on Friday 7th June. Let me know what you think so I can get you a ticket sorted. Hopefully see you soon anyway._

_Love from,_  
_Ilsa x_

Cormoran didn’t think it was weird at all. Ilsa was his oldest friend. Sure, some of the other kids would probably gossip, but so what? He’d have a great time catching up with Ilsa and all his St Mawes friends, and it would be great to see Ted, Joan and Lucy. He’d not been back to Cornwall since Christmas as he’d been studying and Leda had been engrossed with her love life.

He’d called Ilsa immediately and felt a swell of affection when he heard how happy she sounded that he was coming. Yes, summer in St Mawes was looking like a much better option than summer in London.

He spent the intervening ten days sorting out train tickets and a suit, making arrangements with Ted and Joan, organising what else he needed to pack for an indefinite stay, and keeping out of the way of his mother and Whittaker as much as possible. When Lisa turned up on his doorstep the night before he was due to leave, he realised his brief infatuation had been nothing more than adolescent hormones. He’d told her that he was going away for the summer and she had suggested they meet later that evening for a more thorough goodbye, but he’d ignored the slight rush of blood to his groin and told her he had an early start, wished her a great summer and firmly closed the door.  
Now he was speeding away from London, with Roxette’s Joyride album on his Walkman, looking forward to a very different summer to the one he’d anticipated.


	2. All Together Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran enjoys a fish and chip supper at the Victory with his and Ilsa's family, but is unsettled about how much has changed since his last visit to St Mawes. Lucy is being trying!

Cormoran’s arrival just after two-thirty had meant that both Joan and Ted were at work, and Lucy was at school, so it had fallen to Ilsa to plead with her older sister, Holly to take her to pick him up from the station.

Holly, who had just turned nineteen and was reaching the end of a year out before heading to university to study Sociology, was easily convinced. She and Ilsa had always been close and she was fond of Cormoran, viewing him almost as an extra sibling. Besides, she welcomed any excuse to get her hands on her mum’s Metro since passing her driving test.

Cormoran alighted from the train and immediately dumped his belongings on the platform in favour of a long and much needed stretch, before looking around for his friends. He spotted Holly almost immediately standing at the station entrance, she was a little taller than Ilsa, her build slightly more athletic, and her colouring darker, although the sun always streaked her hair with natural highlights. Truth be told, he may have had just a tiny crush on her in his younger teens. He waved at her, slightly puzzled at the lack of Ilsa, but before he had time to move, he was almost bowled over by a flying hug.

“Corm…oh my god it’s sooo great to have you back!”

Reflexively he hugged the figure that had just hurled itself at him, before holding her at arm’s length.

_Bloody hell…_

“Ilsa…” he searched for the right words, “I didn’t even recognise you.”

“Serves you right for leaving it six months between visits,” she grinned up at him.  
“Where are your specs?”

“I got contact lenses,” she replied, “Which is one of the reasons mum and dad are nagging me to get a part-time job, they cost a bloody fortune. These were a reward for all the study I put in, but I’ve got to buy the next pair myself…”

“They suit you…although it is a bit weird if I’m honest…”

It wasn’t the only thing that was weird, thought Cormoran as he followed Ilsa over to Holly and then out to the car. When he’d seen his friend at Christmas, she’d been the same Ilsa as she’d always been. Invariably clad in jeans, thick sweaters and fluffy socks, wire framed glasses perched on her nose, shoulder length, slightly mousy hair pulled back in a small, tatty bun.

Six months had made one hell of a difference. She was now as tall as her sister, and Cormoran couldn’t fail to notice that she was actually girl-shaped now, with her fitted bleached jeans and pale pink cropped top showing a flash of tanned midriff. Her hair was several inches longer and pulled back into a high ponytail, blonder than ever thanks to an early summer and study leave spent largely poring over textbooks in the garden or at the beach, and was that mascara she was wearing? And a touch of lip gloss?

It was with a definite sense of shock, and a little horror, that he realised he would probably fancy her if she wasn’t Ilsa.

But she was Ilsa, his best mate, and they were in the car, singing along with radio and with Ilsa taking the piss out of him in between tracks.

Some things, he thought with a smile, just didn’t change.

***

That evening saw the combined families of Cormoran and Ilsa sat at a couple of wooden table outside The Victory for a fish and chip supper.  
Uncle Ted winked at him as he passed him a second half of lager shandy.

“That’s your lot though, lad,” he grinned at his nephew affectionately. “You glad to be back?”

Cormoran thought for a moment and nodded. He was glad to be back. It was great to see Ilsa again and he was looking forward to catching up with his other friends at the Prom on Friday. The summer stretched out ahead, warm weather, beaches, countryside, old friends. The sanctuary of his aunt and uncle’s home already a welcome respite from the chaos of his home with Leda in London.

He’d been delighted to see how well Lucy had settled back in at St Mawes. The security and routine of life with Ted and Joan in their small village obviously suited her. She’d filled out again, having lost more weight than was healthy during her last few months in London, and was happier and more confident than she’d been in a long time.

But something about the return to St Mawes was unnerving him slightly and he didn’t quite know what to make of it. Ilsa had spent the journey from Truro station filling him in on the most important village gossip. It had only been six months but so many things had changed. Despite Ilsa’s protestations, many of their friends had managed to get summer jobs so weren’t around as much as usual. Some had even started full time jobs and apprenticeships. A fair number had acquired boyfriends and girlfriends since his last visit, and it seemed suddenly as though they were all growing up a bit too fast and the reassuring familiarity that he had always associated with St Mawes was crumbling around him.

One thing that hadn’t changed however, was Lucy’s ability, like most younger sisters, to be an absolute pain in the arse. She’d teased him mercilessly when she’d found out he was coming home to go the Prom with Ilsa and had showed no sign of letting up since she’d got back from school that afternoon. In the end he’d exaggerated his brief liaison with Lisa to try and get her off his back. He might have known he’d live to regret it, and of course it had taken approximately ten minutes that evening before she’d told Ilsa that Cormoran had a girlfriend back in London.

He’d felt himself blushing furiously as Ilsa looked at him wide-eyed, first with surprise, and then slightly hurt. They told each other everything and she obviously wondered why he hadn’t confided in her about this latest development. She’d been slightly off with him throughout the meal, not enough for anyone else to notice, but certainly enough to make  
Cormoran enjoy his fish and chips just a little less than he might have done had it not been for the knot in his stomach and his somewhat irrational anger at Lucy for putting him in such a predicament.

He finished his shandy and got to his feet.

“I think I might wander down to the beach, see if anyone’s about, if that’s okay with you?”

“Go on,” smiled Joan, “But don’t be too late back.”

He turned to Ilsa, “You coming?”

She looked at him for a moment, noticed the slightly desperate look in his eye, and gave an almost imperceptible sigh.

“S’pose so,” she replied, picking up her cardigan from the back of the chair and leading the way down the lane that led to the sea.

They walked in silence for several minutes down the gentle slope towards the water which was turning inky blue as the sun lowered in the evening sky.  
Cormoran wanted to tell Ilsa that there was no girlfriend in London, that he hadn’t been keeping secrets, but however he tried to phrase it in his head, it sounded wrong. As if he was telling her that because he wanted…

_…God no!_

He shuddered. No matter how much Ilsa had changed over the last six months, he was _not_ going there. No way.

“So how long have you been going out with Lisa then?” Ilsa asked eventually. “I’m surprised you’ve not mentioned her.” Her voice was tight.

“Erm…I’m not,” Cormoran admitted, kicking a pebble so it skimmed along the tarmac, “I made it up…”

“Why?!”

“Because Lucy was taking the piss about you and I going to the Prom together and I wanted to shut her up.”

He stopped and looked down at her with an awkward grin. “You know I’d have told you if I had a girlfriend.”

“I thought you’d been holding out on me,” Ilsa rewarded his confession with a none too gentle punch on the shoulder.

“Ow...never!”

“I should bloody hope not,” she squinted across the bay to a couple of figures silhouetted by the boat shed where most of the village’s teenagers congregated during the summer.

“I think that’s Gwen and Sean…c’mon.”

And, friendship restored, they headed over to meet their friends.


	3. Get Ready for This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Prom night at St Mawes High and preparations are underway.

“Have you got any more gas canisters?” asked Penny, “You’ve got too much bloody hair Ils.”

“Dressing table, bottom drawer…”

“Don’t move your head!”

It was late Friday afternoon and Ilsa, Penny and Gwen were crammed into Ilsa’s modestly sized bedroom, preparing for the Prom. Penny, who had a Saturday job at the local hairdressers was in charge of the wireless curling tongs and beginning to regret it. She feared that Ilsa had massively overestimated her hairdressing skills.

She clicked the replacement gas cannister into place and flicked the switch, resting the tong carefully on Ilsa’s dressing table to heat up. She topped up their glasses of Lambrini which she’d smuggled into the house in her dress bag.

“So, Corm then…” Penny mused winking at Gwen in the mirror, “Gwen said you guys bumped into each other at the beach the other night…I hear he’s grown up rather a lot since Christmas,” she teased.

Ilsa gave her an exasperated look in the mirror as she brandished the curling tong again.

“You know that’s not what me and him are about. For God’s sake…we used to play naked in each other’s paddling pools when we were tiny…ugh!”

“Bet he’s not so tiny these days,” quipped Gwen.

“Ewwww!!!” exclaimed Ilsa, “Pack it in. Anyway you’re going out with Sean, so keep your mitts off.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!!”

“SHUT UP!!!”

“Ladies…” there was a knock at the door, Ilsa’s mum. Penny scrabbled to tuck the Lambrini bottle out of sight.

“Mrs Trennery,” she beamed opening the door, “We’re getting there…” she waved a hand in her friend’s general direction.

“Well you’ve got about three quarters of an hour before the boys and Clem arrive, ok, and we’ll all want some photos before you set off.”

“We’ll be ready.”

* * *

“Cormoran, don’t think you think you ought to be getting ready?” Joan’s head appeared round the kitchen door and fixed her nephew, who was reclining on a sun lounger in Bermuda shorts, with a worried look. She had been twitching since she’d got home from work at the local primary school at lunchtime. Ted, who was working over the weekend so had a day off, had safely retreated to his shed and Cormoran was beginning to think that accepting his invitation to help tend his collection of seedlings might not have been such a bad idea.

Lucy, mercifully, had gone back to a friend’s house for tea, an invitation Joan had surreptitiously arranged to prevent World War Three kicking off between the siblings if she teased him any more about his friendship with Ilsa.

Cormoran sighed heavily and looked up from his book.

“I’ll just finish this chapter…”

“You’ve got less than an hour.”

“Auntie Joan, I’ve only got to shower, change and walk next door,” he flicked through the ancient copy of Chief Inspector George Hatherill’s autobiography, “Three more pages, then I’m done.”

Joan pursed her lips and shook her head, but nonetheless retreated into the kitchen.

Cormoran returned to his book but was distracted by the sound of girlish shrieks and peals of laughter from Ilsa’s open window next door. He smiled. He knew Ilsa had had some ups and downs in her friendship group over the course of high school and it was good to hear her laughing with her mates. He got on well with Penny, who had been dating his best friend Dave Polworth since the previous October, and as for Gwen…well she was a lot of fun, if not necessarily what most parents would think of as a good influence, with her outrageous dress sense and bawdy sense of humour.

Conceding defeat, he hauled himself off the lounger and headed for the bathroom, emerging forty minutes later in a navy blue suit, crisp white shirt and pale blue tie. He fiddled uncomfortably with the latter as he made his way downstairs to where Ted was waiting camera in hand. He rolled his eyes at Cormoran as he saw his expression.

“I know mate, but your Aunt will have my guts for garters if I don’t capture this for posterity, and we can send a copy to your Mum as well…”  
Cormoran huffed, knowing there was no point arguing. Joan emerged from the kitchen with a small white box.

“This is for you to give to Ilsa,” she said, handing it to him. Beneath the clear lid was a corsage of sea holly, a white rose and eucalyptus fronds, tied with cornflower blue and white ribbon. “I think that’s the done thing for Prom dates, isn’t it?” she asked him anxiously.

Cormoran suppressed the inner cringe that threatened to show on his face. His aunt had no doubt been watching too many eighties films about American high school proms with all the bells and whistles. He strongly suspected that St Mawes High School would be more cheap balloons and tepid, alcohol-free punch, and he was certain that corsages would not feature. Besides it was not that kind of Prom date. Still he knew his aunt was nothing if not pedantic about doing the right thing and she meant well. He smiled back at her.

“Thanks, I’m sure Ilsa will love it.”

“Righto,” interjected Ted. “Into the garden with you for a quick photo with your auntie…we’ll have to get one with Lucy afterwards.”

In the neighbouring garden they could hear the same conversation going on between Ilsa, her parents and Penny and Gwen’s parents who had turned up to see them off. It took a few minutes to escape and as Cormoran headed out of the door he could see Dave and Sean heading down the hill, and a hundred or so yards behind them, squeezing down the country lane was Ilsa’s Uncle Clem on his tractor. The pale blue vehicle was old and battered, but cleaner than he’d ever seen it, bedecked with coloured ribbons and hauling a trailer stacked with hay bales.

“Bloody hell!”

“I know,” said Dave greeting his friend with a wave, “When Ilsa said her mum was sorting out transport for the six of us this wasn’t what I imagined.”

“I wasn’t talking about the tractor. What the fuck are you wearing? Or should I say, not wearing.”

Dave was several inches shorter than Strike, wiry but athletic in build from having spent most of his life on a surfboard and with a mop of blonde curls. He was also known as the school joker and probably the most confident person Strike knew, certainly a contrast from his quiet, studious, London best friend. It was therefore totally in character that he should be wearing full black tie…minus the shirt. Beneath the jacket he wore nothing but false cuffs and collar with a black bow tie. He looked like an apprentice with the popular male dance troupe, the Chippendales.

“You’ll be lucky if Carey lets you in dressed like that.”

“He’s chilled out a bit lately,” replied Dave with a grin, “Anyway, I’ve left a shirt in my locker just in case.”

Sean and Cormoran exchanged greetings and the three turned in the direction of Ilsa’s house just as the girls came out of the front door. Penny came first, wearing a strapless black dress with a flamenco style skirt and trimmed with white embroidery. Her dark chestnut bob was styled much as it usually was but for the addition of a red rose tucked behind one ear. Cormoran turned to see Dave’s reaction which was much as he expected. He nudged him, grinned and winked.

Gwen tumbled out of the door next, laughing at something one of the adults had said. Eschewing the more traditional prom style, she was in a clinging, shocking pink and black polka dot cocktail dress with just the one shoulder bedecked in an enormous bow. Her mass of auburn curls had been partially tamed and pinned onto one side for the evening.  
Sean, who had moved to the area only a few months previously and been dating Gwen for a matter of only weeks, looked slightly terrified. The other two lads couldn’t help laughing at his expression, but then Cormoran turned back to see Ilsa walking down the pathway and was immediately stunned into silence.

There was his old friend of over ten years and suddenly she was beautiful.

He’d never really noticed her eyes before, what with the glasses and well, the fact that she was ‘just’ Ilsa, but thanks to contact lenses and some very carefully applied make up they suddenly seemed impossibly blue and sparkly. Her dress was made from some kind of silky, shimmery fabric which appeared to change colour as she moved, alternating between a vivid purply blue, and a deep sea green. It sat just off her tanned shoulders and was slim fitting with a slit up the side which stopped a couple of inches above her knee.

Cormoran felt a sharp poke in the ribs.

“Bet you’re rethinking all that ‘we’re just friends’ bullshit now, aren’t you mate?” Dave quipped.

“Not all of us a one-track mind, you perv,” retorted Cormoran.

They helped the girls onto the trailer, then climbed aboard, posed for yet more photos to be taken by the assorted family members and finally set off back up the hill to high school for the last time.


	4. Everybody's Free (To Feel Good)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prom night 1991 at St Mawes High School.

The hall at St Mawes High School was transformed – slightly. The back of the hall was set out with tables and chairs, the canteen blinds up and home to bowls of crisps and nuts and the ubiquitous non-alcoholic punch, which no-one could conclusively identify the flavour of.

A few steps led down to the main part of the hall which was laid out with chairs. On the stage, which had acquired a backdrop of helium balloons and roughly hewn ‘Class of ‘87’ banner, a handful of musical types from their year had formed a band for the evening, and the female lead singer, in a dark green velvet dress, was belting out ‘Cocaine’ by Eric Clapton.

Cormoran smirked, it appeared that Mr Carey, the headteacher really had chilled out a bit. Either that or was completely oblivious. On the raised balcony type area at the side of the stage, a couple of goths from the local technical college were setting up their equipment to film a commemorative video of the evening’s events.

Having got drinks for themselves and the girls, Cormoran, Sean and Dave loitered by the door watching the scene before them, and intermittently being mobbed my mutual friends, keen to catch up with Cormoran and hear tales of his exciting life in London with his eccentric mother, something he tried his best to avoid getting into, such were the terms they’d parted on.

The girls meanwhile were mingling with their friends, comparing outfits, hairdo’s and dates. Cormoran had not failed to notice the amount of cooing going on over Ilsa’s corsage and the not particularly surreptitious looks he was getting from a lot of her friends. He still wasn’t entirely sure whether to be grateful to his aunt or utterly mortified.

There’d been an awkward moment on the trailer when he’d realised he was still holding the box and had been forced to present it to Ilsa with an audience. She’d blushed as much as him and muttered something about, “So that’s why Joan was so interested in my dress…mum said she’d virtually interrogated her.” It was true though, that sea holly was a perfect match for the blue tone in the shot silk, and although there had been a couple of raised eyebrows, his friends had been too engrossed with their own dates to take much notice.

Cormoran tried his best to commit the scene before him to memory. Although he’d been in London for most of the last few years, he’d grown up with the people around him and he was aware that this might be the last time they were all together. He wasn’t a particularly sentimental type, his nomadic childhood having long since taught him that placing too much store in nostalgia was unhelpful at best, but still the evening seemed to be one worth remembering.

Ilsa waved over at him and indicated by hand gestures that she was going to get another drink and did he want one. He smiled and nodded and watched her make her way back to the serving hatches. It was only then that he noticed Adam Parry in the corner of the room, his eyes also locked on Ilsa’s shimmering figure.

It was a dark corner and Cormoran squinted to be sure that he was in fact watching Ilsa in particular rather than the room in general. No, his focus was definitely on one person, or at least it was until the he felt the weight of Cormoran’s stare on him. His gaze flicked up briefly, and he turned away swiftly, aware that he’d been seen, and headed out to the cloakrooms.

Cormoran took the plastic cup from Ilsa when she returned and led the way to a couple of seats at a nearby table. He took a sip of the watery punch before speaking.

“Adam Parry…”

Ilsa squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, failing to meet Cormoran’s eye.

“Is there something I should know? Particularly in light of the bollocking I had the other day about keeping secrets from you. I’ve just seen him looking longingly at you from behind that godawful fake cheese plant.”

She sighed and looked up.

“No…there’s not, he just…he kept hinting to me about being his date tonight.”

“Okaaaay…”

“And he’s harmless enough but he’s also just a bit…odd. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I kept trying to skirt the issue and then once you agreed to come down for tonight, I just slipped into conversation, in his earshot, that we were coming together.”

“And I guess he stopped pestering after that?”

“He wasn’t exactly pestering to be fair, but no, he’s not even spoken to me since.”

“Hmmm. What do you mean by odd? I mean, I know he’s always been quiet but…”

“He just makes me feel….” she shook her head and shuddered.

“Okay, well, don’t go wandering off on your own, will you? I’m sure like you say he’s harmless enough, but I don’t want him being a nuisance and spoiling your evening. I’ll soon put him straight if he starts being a pain.”

Ilsa grinned up him, eyes twinkling.

“Oooh, I quite like it when you’re all protective,” she teased.

“Yeah, well you’re like a sister to me aren’t you? Of course I’m going to be protective,” he replied gruffly, feeling rush of heat creep up his neck.

Much to his relief, he saw Dave wave at him from the double doors that were open onto the school field.

“I think that’s my cue to disappear with Dave for a sneaky fag behind the bike sheds…I’ll be back in a bit.”

Ilsa watched his retreating figure as he headed outside.

_“You’re like a sister to me…”_

Yes, she thought, she was, and he was like the brother she’d often wished she’d had. So why had something dropped in the pit of her stomach when he’d actually said as much.

“You alright? You look like you’re miles away?” Penny had seen her friend and Corm deep in conversation and planned to approach with another teasing comment, but as she’d drawn closer could see that it wasn’t the time.

“Yeah, I’m fine. C’mon the ‘cabaret’ is starting shortly…let’s go and get some decent seats.”

The cabaret part of the evening comprised of an assortment of willing volunteers from the student body entertaining their peers. Hosted by Vinnie Dalziel, in a dubious double breasted pinstriped suit that made him look more like a pimp in training than a sixteen-year-old school boy, the acts included a Monty Python sketch, an original song performed on the piano and sung by Janie Phillips – the year’s most practically perfect (and irritating) student, and a particularly enthusiastic performance of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. by two of the younger male teachers, dressed in drag complete with purple foil wigs. The highlight of it all came at the end when the Prom King and Queen were announced, resulting in an epic flounce from Janie who’d though she was a shoo-in for the plastic crown, but had been sorely mistaken.

Once the chairs were stacked away at the side of the side of the hall, the disco - such as it was - began, courtesy of assorted lights from the drama department, bolstered by numerous strings of fairly lights from staff member’s lofts and the music teacher’s own stereo hooked up to the music room’s biggest amp.

Dave was first on the dancefloor, strutting his stuff to ‘I’m Too Sexy’ by Right Said Fred. Cormoran shook his head affectionately as he watched him from edge of the space.

“I know he’s my best mate, Penny, but what the hell do you see in him?”

“He’s fit and funny, he’s got a moped and he’s a great snog. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to marry him or anything,” she laughed, grabbing Gwen’s hand and pulling her onto the dance floor as Sean looked on, bemused.

Soon the others joined them though, and they were all moshing along to The Size of a Cow by The Wonder Stuff and Dizzy by Vic Reeves. The next hour passed energetically as Mr Brown the music teacher showed off his surprisingly current CD collection.

Cormoran had kept an eye out for the duration for any sign of Adam loitering in Ilsa’s vicinity, but there was no sign of him, and he didn’t seem the dancing type, so he took the opportunity to slip out back to the bike sheds to cool down and have another cigarette.

He paused as he returned to the hall a few minutes later. The music had slowed down considerably, and he felt a wave of apprehension as he approached. He absolutely did not want to have to engage with slow dances, and was certain Ilsa would feel much the same, but he’d not been completely oblivious to the fact that a few of his former classmates had been casting him approving glances across the hall during the course of the evening, despite his being there as Ilsa’s ‘date’. He wasn’t being big-headed, it had been impossible not to notice, given the amount of nudging and piss-taking Penny, Gwen and Dave had subjected him to whenever it had happened.

The two couples were already on the dance floor as he entered the hall and the music slowed still further, soft synthesiser notes drifting across the space. Cormoran did a quick scan of the hall for Ilsa, thinking he’d join her on the side-lines for a chat. It took him a few moments to locate her in the crowd, hemmed in as she was by the gangly figure of Adam Parry, who was gesticulating at the dance floor, and, it appeared, trying to take her hand to coax her onto it, even though she looked as reluctant as Cormoran had ever seen her.

In a few strides, he’d crossed the room. Tall as Adam was, Cormoran still had a good few inches on him and twice the breadth, and with little thought beyond rescuing Ilsa from her predicament, he tapped him firmly on the shoulder and announced, “Sorry mate, she’s promised me first refusal,” then turning to Ilsa, he took her hand and pulled her away from Adam and onto the dance floor.

He regretted his decision even as Ilsa settled into his arms, aware that she felt just a little too comfortable there for his own equilibrium. The synthesiser was like a heartbeat as a sinuous woodwind kicked in and Madonna began to sing:

_“Swaying room as the music starts, strangers making the most of the dark, two by two their bodies become one...”_

He cringed internally. Could there be a less appropriate song to be dancing to with your best friend, he mused? Ilsa, meanwhile had buried her face in Cormoran’s shoulder to hide her flaming cheeks, whilst trying desperately to keep an appropriate distance from the rest of him.

After a half a minute or so, she raised her head and grinned up at him.

“Thank you,” she said, “He was more persistent than I’d have given him credit for.”

Cormoran harrumphed, gratified to have helped her out, even if he was now questioning his judgement regarding how he’d gone about it.

Looking over his shoulder Ilsa caught the eye first of Gwen who gave her a wink and a thumbs up, then Penny, whose sardonically raised eyebrows spoke volumes.

“Shit…” she muttered.

“What?” Cormoran gaze followed hers to where their friends were dancing, both couples now studiously ignoring them.

“You realise we are never going to live this down, don’t you?”


	5. Summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some teasing from Dave and Holly, Cormoran and Ilsa get over the previous evening's awkwardness with a day at the beach. Corm confides in Ilsa about his concerns for Leda.

“Well I though you two made a lovely pair last night,” simpered Joan as she scrambled eggs over the ancient Aga on Saturday morning, her back to her niece and nephew who were sat the kitchen table. “Did Ilsa like her corsage?”

Lucy was barely suppressing her giggles, despite Cormoran glowering at her. She’d heard every detail of the Prom preparations from her auntie whilst they were waiting for Corm to arrive home and take yet more photos with his little sister. Ilsa, naturally, had been roped in, and the proceedings had dragged out for almost an hour when her parents and Holly popped in as well.

After just three days back with his family, Cormoran was already desperate to escape. Whilst London might not compare with St Mawes in terms of open space, fresh sea air and home comforts, a flat in Shoreditch inhabited only by his flighty mother was undoubtedly a better place for dealing with the occasional bout of teenage angst.

When the phone rang in the hallway, he was out of his chair on the first ring.

“I’ll get it.”

The relief at hearing Dave’s voice at the other end was immense, and he headed back to the kitchen, his mood already much improved.

“I’m going down the beach with the lads Joan, probably won’t be back until dinner time.”

“What about your scrambled eggs…” he was already halfway out of the door.

“I’ll get something on the way, thanks though.”

“And don’t forget sun cream…” Joan shouted at his retreating back, whilst Lucy silently rolled her eyes.

* * *

Ilsa had mercifully had to endure considerably less discussion about the prom as her mum, a nurse, had left early for work. Her dad, as usual was out tinkering with his bike in the garage, which just left Holly who was apparently sleeping in.

She made her way down to the kitchen, shoved two slices of bread in the toaster and poured herself a large glass of orange juice, grinning as she remembered some of the funnier moments of the previous evening. How Dave had gotten away with that outfit she still couldn’t fathom, and it was a mystery where Gwen and Sean had disappeared to before the lights went up after the last slow dance. Ilsa would have laid a bet on them heading for the boat house, which a select handful of the local teenagers knew had a dodgy lock and therefore provided an ideal place for privacy, should one need it.

The thought of slow dances turned her thoughts to Cormoran. God that had been so weird! She had been delighted to see him crossing the hall to come to her rescue, and before she knew it they’d been on the dance floor with the other couples, and that song had been playing, with those lyrics and for a few moments, she’d almost forgotten he was just her childhood best mate.

As she slathered her toast with Marmite, she cast her mind back to when he’d hugged her goodbye before heading back to London at the end of the Christmas holidays…he’d felt so different back then. He’d taken up boxing the previous autumn, but at that point it hadn’t had much impact on his physique. Obviously six months makes all the difference, she thought, remembering how very solid and safe he’d felt, not like a teenage boy at all…

_Get over yourself, Ilsa…giant by name and giant by nature. Anyone of that build would feel safe and solid._

“You alright sis?”

Holly emerged into the sunny kitchen, yawning in sleep shorts and t-shirt, hair piled up on her head in a construction that was neither bun nor ponytail.

“Yup, want some toast?”

“Mmm-hm. But not with that disgusting muck on. Is there any peanut butter?”

“In the cupboard, you can do your own.”

Holly ambled over and flicked the kettle on as Ilsa sat down at the table.

“So…good time last night?” she queried. “I hear the ‘rents and Joan and Ted had a field day.”

“Oh God, don’t even go there, it was mortifying on so many levels I can’t tell you. Lucy thought the whole thing was hilarious. I’m bloody glad I don’t have a younger sister, you’re bad enough,” she teased, grinning.

“Sweet though,” said Holly, indicating the corsage which was sitting in a pottery egg cup of water on the windowsill, “Bet Corm felt a right prat producing that.”

“And on the tractor in front of everyone…horrendous.”

Holly leant against the worktop, took a long slow, sip of her coffee and eyed her younger sister with a suspicious smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“So how come you were slow dancing with him by the end of the evening?”

Ilsa narrowly avoided choking on her toast, colour flooding her cheeks.

“What…I…how do you know about that?”

“I have my sources. Was in the pub with Kerry, her brother’s in your year apparently, his nose was put quite out of joint when Corm came along and swept you off your feet apparently.

“Her brother? What’s his name?”

“Adam…something…Perry?”

“Adam Parry? How is he her brother…she’s not Parry?”

“Well he’s her half-brother…different names.”

“Bugger.”

“Yeah I think that was his verdict too.”

“He was being quite persistent actually…Corm rescued me.”

“Knight in shining armour then? Don’t tell me you lost a shoe on the way home…” Holly was giggling now.

“Oh, do behave, it was all a bit weird to be honest. All I want to do is spend a day lazing in the sun and for everything to go back to normal.”

“Beach then? I could do with a day like that myself if you want some company.”

Ilsa pouted and narrowed her eyes, then broke into a smile.

“Alright then, but one more word about the bloody prom and I’m burying you in the sand.”

“Deal. I’ll go and pack the beach bag.”

* * *

Cormoran and Dave were glad to have made it to the beach early. It wasn’t as busy as it got in the summer holidays, but it was still a Saturday with a glorious weather forecast and the space was filling up rapidly around them. Dave, always well prepared, had brought a wind break and cheekily sectioned off an area on one of the sandier patches of the beach.

“Shame the board’s no use here,” he grumbled as he stripped down to his shorts and dropped onto the sand, “You up for a few sessions in Newquay over the summer?”

“Yeah, I’ll give it go,” replied Cormoran, “Although for today I’m just very happy to be out of the house.”  
  
Dave snorted. “Your auntie Joan is a lovely woman, but…”

“Tell me about it,” Cormoran rolled his eyes, “…and Lucy’s driving me up the wall. If I hear one more word about Ilsa or that bloody corsage…”

“…or that slow dance,” Dave teased.

“I was rescuing her from that prat Adam as well you know…”

“You keep telling yourself that mate.”

“Oh, bugger off,” replied Cormoran, good-naturedly, grabbing his bottle and book out of his rucksack. As he looked back up, he spotted a girl in the distance heading towards them, she was tall, tanned and curvy in snugly fitting bleached denim shorts and a black sports style bikini top, large tortoiseshell framed sunglasses hiding a large proportion of her face.

It was only when she pushed them back onto her head and began waving at him, he realised who it was.

_Oh, for fucks’ sake!_

“Definitely still think of her as just a mate then do you Oggy?” smirked Dave, who'd caught him looking.

“I’m just not used to seeing her in sunglasses,” he stuttered, mortified at being caught out. “She’s never worn them before ‘cos she always had her specs on.”

Dave just shook his head and waved Ilsa over to join them.

Despite her effusive waving, Ilsa was not best pleased to see the lads at the beach. What with Joan’s fussing, Lucy’s teasing and then that bloody slow dance, she was beginning to bitterly regret asking Cormoran to join her for the Prom. When she’d written to him it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to ask her best friend to be her date, catch up with his old friends and help her avoid Adam’s unwelcome advances.

Her one concern had been that other people, especially of their own age group who were notorious for being ‘black and white’ about male/female relationships, would find it weird. Now it seemed the only people struggling with the situation were her and, judging by his clear discomfort after they’d got home the previous evening, Cormoran.

When she’d rounded Dave’s windbreak and found him sprawled across a towel in his beach shorts on the other side, she’d wanted to run a mile, but by that time Holly was catching up with them and shouting greetings, so there was no escape.

“Alright Corm,” she said, trying to keep the nerves from her voice and her curious eyes from wandering as she arranged her towel a carefully measured distance from his.  
He peered over the top of his book and grinned at her.

“Yeah, how about you? Recovered from last night yet?”

He was clearly teasing her, and a rush of relief washed over Ilsa. Last night had just been a blip, last time all together, emotional relatives…it was bound to rub off.

“Just about. Haven’t seen Lucy about this morning…you haven’t buried her under the patio after all that piss taking yesterday?”

Cormoran snorted with laughter. “Come on, she’s a pain in the arse but she’s not that bad. Auntie Joan, on the other hand…”

“She means well. The corsage was a lovely thought.”

He smiled an rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I know. It’s times like that I miss my mum though. She might be as mad as a box of frogs, but at least she mostly does it from a distance.”

“Have you heard from her since you’ve been here?”

“I let her know I’d got here ok, and she’s called a couple of times since, but I’ve…I’ve not spoken to her.”

Ilsa frowned at him. She was well aware of the ups and downs of Cormoran’s relationship with Leda, especially as they’d got older. He was frequently left in a position of being more like the parent both to Lucy, and in respect of Leda herself. He didn’t mind the responsibility – much – but found his mother’s obliviousness to the chaos she invariably left in her wake frustrating and infuriating.

“Is everything ok between you two?”

Cormoran hadn’t told Ilsa about the latest developments in London. She had been studying, taking exams then caught up in the excitement of prom. Besides, it wasn’t an easy thing to get into on the phone or by letter.

“We didn’t part on brilliant terms, to be honest Ils. She’s moved the boyfriend in…”

“Jeff?”

“Whittaker, that’s right. He’s a dickhead, but she won’t listen to me.”

“Probably not if you’re calling her boyfriend a dickhead,” Ilsa gave him a reproachful look.

Cormoran sighed. “You don’t know him Ilsa. He’s not like the other dodgy twats she’s hung around with before. He’s into drugs, clearly has no respect for Mum – or any women for that matter. He’s a total creep but they all seem to think he’s God’s gift…speaking of which, he also professes to be a Satanist. He’s just, I dunno, there’s something really off about him.”

“Is he really that bad?” Ilsa’s expression was somewhere between horror and disbelief. She was well aware that there were awful people in the world, she spent every spare minute with her head in true crime books and planned to study law at uni. It was a bit different knowing that someone close to her had first-hand experience of such a malevolent sounding character.

“You know he’s the reason Lucy came back to St Mawes? And I’m sure he’d love it if I’d do the same, but there’s no chance. The only reason I’m planning on staying here over the summer is because he’s going on tour next week, so I know she won’t be there on her own with him for too long. I just hope the break gives her a chance to come to her senses.”

“Well,” said Ilsa, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, all awkwardness between them forgotten, “With the best will in the world, your mum isn’t really one for long term relationships is she…” she spoke slowly, trying to be at least a bit diplomatic, “…so it might well be that this one has almost run its course.”

“Yeah,” replied Cormoran, although he looked doubtful, “We’ll see.”


	6. Tainted Love - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran has a catch up Nick over the phone, and gets an unexpected visitor.

The day at the beach cleared the air between Cormoran and Ilsa, although he had to reluctantly admit to himself it had taken rather more effort than usual to tear his eyes away from the sight of her in a bikini. He had noticed several passing lads, both from school and unknown to them having a similar issue and had been forced to admit to himself that she was a very attractive girl these days…in abstract of course.

Days passed, Cormoran enjoying the peace and quiet when the rest of the family were at work and school. His itinerant childhood had made him good with people, when he had to be, but he enjoyed his own company too and was more than content to laze in the garden with his book, a luxury not available to him in London.

He didn’t spend the entire time on his own, catching up with Dave in between his doing extra hours at his part time job at a surf school on Newquay, and listening to Ilsa grumble in between job hunting that if only her parents would have let her have a moped like their friend it would have been a lot easier to find employment. Both of them knew, however, the chances of Ilsa whipping up and down the country lanes on a bike were about as great as Aunt Joan taking up roller blading.

Despite the rocky start to his visit, Cormoran had even managed to spend some time with Lucy without wishing he was an only child. Once she’d got over her amusement at the prom situation, she’d stopped taking the piss and been keen to hear how things were in London. She still wrote to a couple of friends there who he saw occasionally and was also eager for details of their mother’s latest antics. Cormoran didn’t enjoy breaking the news that Whittaker was increasingly looking like a permanent fixture, and as a result there was no sign of Leda suddenly transitioning into the kind of mum he knew his sister longed for. Aunt Joan did her best for them both and they loved her for it, but it just wasn’t the same.

On Thursday evening, he called Nick to find out how he was getting on with the job at the hospital and if there was any news from their school friends. Lisa Wilkinson flashed briefly through his mind and he wondered, not for the first time, if he’d done the right thing turning her down before he’d left for Cornwall. When he’d confided in Dave what had happened he’d looked at him as if he was completely insane to have politely declined her offer of no strings attached sex, but still he knew it wasn’t for him, not the first time anyway. He was hardly going to save himself for marriage but he didn’t want to look back on the experience and cringe in later years. Besides, he was only too aware that Lisa was both more experienced than him and not well known for her discretion. If anything had gone…wrong…he dreaded to think how many people would have known about it by now. Sure enough, when he spoke to Nick, he confirmed that Lisa was already dating someone else.

“How about you mate,” he asked, “Anyone taken your fancy in Cornwall?”

Cormoran could hear the teasing grin in his voice, and his mind went briefly to the various girls he’d seen at the prom and around the village since his return. An image of Ilsa flickered in his mind’s eye and he quickly dismissed it.

“Nah, not really. They’ve all either got boyfriends or I know them too well,” he laughed, “Might be able to fix you up if you fancy coming down for visit though.”

“I might take you up on that,” replied Nick, thoughtfully, “I’ve got leave booked the week after next. We were going to Tenerife but bloody Chris has broken his ankle so we can’t fly now. Mum and Dad are looking at a caravan in Scotland of all places instead. Would your aunt and uncle mind if I came to yours?”

“No, it’d be fine. That’s one of the reasons I was phoning actually. I’ve already asked them on the off chance you might fancy it.”

“You’re a lifesaver Oggy. Can’t think of anything worse than spending a week in a caravan in the Highlands with my annoying little brother. I’ll double check with work and The Olds and let you know for definite, okay?”

“Sounds good. I’d better go, Joan’s just dished up dinner and she’ll be on my case if it starts getting cold.”

“Alright mate, see you soon.”

* * *

Cormoran woke early on Friday morning, disconcerted by memories of the wholly inappropriate dream he’d had. He couldn't remember the details but it had been thoroughly enjoyable, notwithstanding its unfortunate side effects.

Cursing under his breath, he stripped the bed, rounded up some other laundry to make it look less obvious what he was up to in the unlikely event he bumped into anyone before six in the morning, and made his way down to the kitchen. As he padded barefoot along the hallway, he heard voices and frowned. Uncle Ted’s deep Cornish burr was joined by another, female voice but it wasn’t Aunt Joan. It took Cormoran a few seconds to register, still half asleep and out of context, that the voice belonged to his mother, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

After a minute or two of listening and being unable to decipher exactly what was going on, he steeled himself and strode into the kitchen, trying to affect an air of nonchalance. He quickly bunged his laundry on before turning to the figures at the table.

“Mum, what are you doing here?”

He didn’t really need to ask. It was as clear as day that something had happened regarding Whittaker. Leda looked pale, exhausted and tear stained. Black circles below her eyes gave way to red blotchy cheeks, her make up had long since been washed away by tears, although small smudges of mascara were still visible. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her look so rough, and he felt his fist clench involuntarily at his side.

“Hello darlin’,” she gave him a weak smile and pulled Ted’s dark green cardigan tighter around her thin frame, “I thought I’d pop down for a surprise visit…drove down overnight.”

She reached for the packet of tobacco in front of her, fished out a pre-made roll up and lit it with trembling fingers. A saucer in the middle of the table had been designated a makeshift ashtray and was already home to several stubs. Aunt Joan, he thought fleetingly, would be furious.

“Stick the kettle on lad,” instructed Ted, “How come you’re up so early?”

Cormoran flushed slightly. “Didn’t close my curtains and the sun woke me. Couldn’t get back to sleep…”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Leda’s mouth twitch. How did she know?

A noise above them indicated that Joan was on the move. Ted rolled his eyes and made his way upstairs to head her off. Cormoran handed Leda a steaming mug and sat down opposite her with his own tea.

“Why are you really here Mum? What’s he done this time?”

Leda stubbed out her cigarette and took a sip from her mug, cradling it in her hands as though she needed warming up, even though the temperature in the sunny kitchen was already climbing rapidly.

“You were right about him sweetheart,” she swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears. She sniffed and blinked rapidly, forcing them back for the benefit of her first born. “He wanted me to go on this tour with him, and I told him I couldn’t. I’ve got work and I wanted to come down here and see you and your sister over the summer…”

“And he didn’t like it?” Cormoran was well aware of Whittaker’s constant need for attention. He was basically an overgrown toddler in a filthy, drug-addled man’s body.  
Leda inhaled deeply, swallowed more tea.

“He’s taking that slapper from the Bricklayer’s Arms,” she spat.

Cormoran frowned. “Donna? She was only in the year above me at school.” He wasn’t sure whether he was more shocked at Whittaker’s predilection for someone so young, or his mother’s language. She liked to think of herself as a feminist, and generally didn’t approve of women calling one another names.

Leda nodded, then dropped her head onto her folded arms and let the tears come.

Cormoran rubbed her shoulder tentatively.

“I know you love him mum,” he said through gritted teeth, “But he’s a moron. You can do better…you deserve better.”

She raised her head to look at him, smiled, squeezed his hand.

“Perhaps I should just concentrate on the one young man that doesn’t let me down,” she whispered, “…and his sister.”

Cormoran smiled back and hoped that this time, she meant it,


	7. Tainted Love - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day out at the beach for Leda, Cormoran and Lucy results in some revelations about Whittaker's behaviour and ends badly. Joan loses her temper and says some things she shouldn't.

When Joan emerged half an hour later, bearing a tight-lipped smile, Leda beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom for a shower and stayed out of the way until Lucy got up. She was delighted to see her mum and pleaded with Joan to allow her to take the day off school so that she could spend it with Leda and Cormoran.

“Your mum’s here now, Lucy,” Joan had replied, busying herself with washing up the breakfast things, “It’s up to her.”

“Pleeease, mum?”

“Well…” it had been impossible not to notice the tension in Joan’s voice, but it had been weeks since Leda had seen her daughter and it was just one day. “Okay. We’ll do something nice together, all three of us.”

Leda was beaming now, showered, changed, hair and make up in place. Normal service had been resumed.

Cormoran saw his aunt’s shoulders sag as she stood at the butler sink.

“Here, I’ll dry up Joan,” he offered, giving her a quick hug as he reached round her for the tea towel.

“You’re a good lad, Corm,” she said, softly, but he could still hear the crack in her voice.

They waited until Ted had left for the coastguard station and Joan was on her way to her job as a teaching assistant at St Mawes Primary School before piling into Leda’s old Ford Escort and heading westward down the coast to Praa Sands. The massive curve of beach sparkled in the sunlight and the coloured sails of windsurfers dotted the horizon. It struck Cormoran that a family day at the beach was a somewhat childish thing to be doing at his age, but it was, nonetheless, perfect. They stopped at a small town on the way so Leda could pick up a swimming costume, which she changed into beneath a towel whilst Cormoran and Lucy swam, before heading down to join them.

Cormoran didn’t notice them immediately, and when he did, he couldn’t say anything in front of Lucy. She’d probably noticed them too, but he didn’t want to draw her attention if they hadn’t. He waited until they’d got back to the little spot they’d earmarked on the sand, rummaged in the pocket of his discarded jeans and handed Lucy and fiver.

“There’s an ice cream van up there,” he nodded to where the beach turned to greensward behind them, “Go and get us all a 99.”

Lucy was about to ask him what his last slave died of but thought better of it and grabbed the note before he changed his mind. Cormoran sat down on his towel and looked again at Leda’s upper arm before turning his attention back to the ocean.

“Did he do that?”

He didn’t need to be more specific. He knew Leda had seen him looking at the finger shaped bruises just below her shoulder. She sighed.

“It doesn’t matter now, it’s over.”

“Mum, that doesn’t mean it’s not important. How could you let him…you know you could report him, right?”

“What’s the point?” she shrugged. “We’ve split up, he’s going away on Sunday. Anyway, it was a domestic, no-one would be interested.”  
Cormoran felt a bubble of rage rising in his stomach.

“Has he hurt you before?”

Leda didn’t look at him but her tone was firm. “We’ve had our fights, I give as good as I get and as I said, it’s over now. Just leave it Corm. I want to enjoy today with you and Luce.”

He looked up and saw his sister heading back towards them, hands full of towering cornets.

“I’m going to give her hand,” he said, getting to his feet and walking away before he could say anything he’d regret and ruin the day for all of them.

The rest of the day passed happily, once Cormoran had managed to force the conversation with his mother to the back of his mind. If Lucy had noticed anything amiss she’d not mentioned it and he was relieved. It was almost seven in the evening by the time they arrived back at St Mawes, damp, sandy, slightly sunburnt and full of Cornish pasties.

They were laughing at one of Leda’s stories about a particularly arrogant wannabe singer at the recording studio where she worked as they headed up the pathway to the house, but their fun was brought to an abrupt halt by the appearance of a stony faced Uncle Ted filling the doorway.

His eyes flicked from the teenagers to Leda and back again, weighing up the situation. There was no skirting around the issue.

“Leda, you’ve got a visitor.”

They all knew instantly who he meant. Lucy looked up at Cormoran, wide-eyed and anxious. Leda’s expression was unreadable. The three of them followed Ted into the house.

“He’s in there,” said Ted, indicating the sitting room.

“Go up to your room, Lucy,” instructed Cormoran, making to follow Leda. A large hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“No, you don’t.”

“But Ted…”

“I know, but it’s not your business.”

“She’s my mum, and he’s hurt her.”

“I know. He’s a shit,” Cormoran flinched in shock, he couldn’t remember ever hearing Ted swear, “But your mother is a grown woman and she has to fight her own battles,” his voice softened, “We’ll be right here in the next room if she needs us, come on,” and he steered his nephew into the kitchen where Joan was taking the stresses of the day out on a large ball of bread dough.

They sat for over an hour listening to the rise and fall of the conversation in the sitting room. Lucy had crept downstairs after about ten minutes, not wanting to hear any of it, but not wanting to be on her own either. Joan didn’t join them, continuing with her baking then moving on to emptying and cleaning cupboards. Cormoran feared she would scrub a hole in something, given the ferocity with which she was attacking every available surface with Jif and a scouring cloth.

Eventually, they heard Leda’s footsteps going upstairs to the spare room and waited for the sound of the front door closing behind Whittaker.

It didn’t come.

Several minutes later, Leda appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes sparking, lipstick smudged. Cormoran felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, he knew what was coming. He glanced at Lucy, who had obviously come to the same realisation. He could see she was trying to fight back tears and reached over to squeeze her hand.

“Mum…” his sister’s voice was barely more than a squeak.

“You’re not going back to him? Seriously?” Cormoran was looking at Leda in bewilderment, shaking in his head. He knew she lacked judgement when it came to her love life, but this…this was totally beyond his comprehension.

On the other side of the kitchen, Joan, still with her back to them, had stopped scrubbing. Ted rubbed a large hand across his face which was etched with worry.

“Leda,” he paused, “Think about what you’re doing, love. We’re here for you, you can stay as long as you want. At least sleep on it…”

“I can’t Ted, we’ve got to get to back to London and pack.”

“Pack?” Cormoran and Ted asked in unison. Lucy had left the table and was sobbing into Joan’s shoulder.  
“I’m going on tour with Jeff, we leave on Sunday.”

“But what about your job? The flat?”

“Rick paid the rent until September before Lucy moved out, and I can get another job when I get back…it’s London darlin’, I’m never going to be without work.”

_And what if you don’t come back?_

Cormoran bit back the question that popped, unsolicited and unwanted into his brain, and did his best to squash the fear that had been brewing since he’d seen the bruises on his mother’s arm earlier. Whittaker was a malevolent piece of shit, but surely he wouldn’t…

“Right,” Ted broke the silence. “I guess that’s that then.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Leda reassured him, “…and I’ll send some money for the kids when I get my last pay packet, and I’ll let you know when I get back.”

“You know that’s not an issue…”

Suddenly Joan spun round.

“No nothing’s a bloody issue for her is it?” She spat at Ted before rounding on Leda. “You carry on in your own selfish way, totally oblivious to what you’re putting anyone else through, not least your children. You’re not fit to be a mother Leda Strike. You never were and it would be a damn sight better for everyone if you didn’t bother coming back!”

“Joanie, that’s enough,” Ted reprimanded, his tone firm but gentle. His words had no impact on his raging wife.

“No Ted. It’s nowhere near enough. She’s put us through this for years, to say nothing of the effect her behaviour has had on Corm and Lucy. It’s not right and if you won’t say it I will. We could have stopped all this if only you’d let me…”

“I said that’s enough!” Ted’s raised voice shocked everyone into silence and stillness.

Joan glared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“We should have put a stop to this years ago, when we had the chance,” she whispered quietly, before pushing past Leda and storming upstairs. The bedroom door slammed so hard it reverberated through the house.

“You coming babe? We need to get on the road.” Whittaker’s lazy, upper-class drawl drifted down the hallway to the kitchen.

Cormoran wanted to go out there, to confront him, to put everything he’d learned at his boxing club over the last several months into practice in the most painful and damaging way possible, but Lucy was clinging to his arm and he’d have to get past Ted and Leda…and he knew deep down that Whittaker wasn’t worth it.

“I have to go…” Leda sounded suddenly reluctant.

Lucy let out an uncontrollable sob and Cormoran hugged her close, looking daggers at Leda over the top of her head.

“Go then,” he said, his tone flat.

She didn’t move.

“Corm, I promise…”

He turned away, taking Lucy with him out into the back garden.

Ted picked up his sister’s bag, and went with her, out to the waiting car.


	8. Always There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted helps Cormoran find a way to cope his feelings about Leda letting him and Lucy down.
> 
> A beach party leads to an unexpected turn of events.

Cormoran and Lucy stayed in the garden until the sun had almost set. When she’d finally finished crying and he’d wrapped her in his sweatshirt, Lucy looked at up at him with red rimmed eyes and a frown.

“What do you think Aunt Joan meant…’we should have stopped this when we had the chance?’”

“I don’t know, I guess she reckons they should have insisted on you or both of us coming back here sooner.”

“I wish you’d stay, Stick.”

“You know I can’t leave Mum permanently all the while Whittaker’s hanging around. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, anyway.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be here for the rest of the summer.”

“Yeah.” She looked up at their aunt and uncle’s bedroom and as she did so the light went out. They’d been up there a while now, silhouetted behind the curtains. Cormoran and  
Lucy had both heard Ted shut the window, so their conversation didn’t carry out into the garden. Cormoran followed her gaze. “Looks like it might be safe to go in now, you coming?” He got to his feet, reached out his hand and pulled Lucy to hers. “C’mon I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

“With marshmallows?”

“Yup.”

Lucy smiled for the first time since they’d arrived back from the beach, and Cormoran felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. She may be a pain the arse and they may be chalk and cheese, but she was still his little sister.

Ted was in the kitchen putting away the last of the washing up.

“Joan’s in bed,” he told them, “So try and keep the noise down if you’re going up in a minute.” His voice was hoarse, and he barely looked them in the eye. Cormoran could scarcely believe it of the strapping ex-military uncle whom he’d hero-worshipped for as long as he could remember, but he was fairly certain he’d been crying.

“We will. I’m just making us a drink. We’ll take it up to my room.”

“Good lad. You okay Lucy?”

She smiled and gave Ted a hug.

“Needed that,” he grinned briefly and kissed the top of her head, “Up you go now.”

Cormoran watched his sister make her way somewhat reluctantly toward the stairs as he made their drinks.

“Luce…” he called after her, “…do you want my bottom bunk tonight?”

She turned and looked back him, relief etched on her face. She’d never liked sleeping alone after rows or drama and he knew it.

“Thanks Stick.” She replied and headed upstairs while Cormoran hunted in the cupboards for marshmallows.

* * *

Ted woke the following morning to an unfamiliar sound…a repeated swish-thwack drifting through the now open bedroom window at ever-increasing speed. He rolled out of bed and peered down into the garden to see Cormoran putting Lucy’s ancient skipping rope through its paces. Leaving Joan sleeping, or at least pretending to, he headed down to the garage and began to rummage.

He found Cormoran in the kitchen an hour later, inhaling orange juice.

“Got it out of your system yet?” he asked his nephew, drily.

Cormoran snorted.

“Thought not. Come with me, I’ve found something that might help.”

He led him through to the garage, where hanging from the beams was a well-used punch bag. A pair of shiny red boxing gloves sat atop the work bench to the side of it.

“Bit short of boxing gyms in St Mawes, so I thought I’d dig these out. Haven’t used them for years. Joan’s not a fan but if it helps you blow off some steam…”

“Thanks Ted,” Cormoran was already trying the gloves on. He was a similar build to Ted and they fitted perfectly. His uncle smiled at him from the garage door.

“And if you’re imagining that bag is someone in particular, give him a right hook from me.”

Cormoran spent most of the morning in the garage, alternately boxing and brooding. He heard his aunt and sister leave the house in the car, talking about shopping in Truro. Ted, he imagined, was probably doing jobs around the house. He hadn’t heard him come out again to head for the potting shed.

He was halfway through what he had decided would be his final round on the punch bag, red faced and dripping with sweat when the front garage door opened, and he turned around, aggravated and squinted into the sunlight.

“Ilsa,” he panted, shucking off his gloves and pulling his damp t-shirt back on.

“Corm,” she smiled nervously, aware of the blush that was creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. She really needed to stop stumbling across her old friend when he was barely dressed. “I just came to see if you’re okay. Thin walls, y’know…and I saw your mum leave last night.”

“Yeah, well it’s not like it’s the first time is it?”

Ilsa nodded, not knowing what else to say for a moment.

“Erm, a bunch of us are going to meet up on the beach this evening, bonfire, music…if you fancy it?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay, shall I call for you about seven?”

“Great. See you then.”

* * *

After showering, Cormoran spent the remainder of the day dozing and reading in the garden. Joan and Lucy arrived back in high spirits late afternoon, but when they sat down to eat a while later it was clear there was still some tension between his aunt and uncle.

“Will you be alright?” he asked Lucy quietly as they washed up together. Ted and Joan weren’t exactly love’s young dream, but it was rare for them to argue and even more unusual for any atmosphere between them to drag on.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got homework to do and a new magazine. I’m sure it’ll all blow over,” she grinned mischievously at him, “So you’re going out with Ilsa…again?”

“We’re walking to the beach to meet about a dozen friends from school and you…” he flicked her with the tea towel and she shrieked, “…are getting very boring. Ilsa’s just a mate.”

“I know,” she grinned, “I just like winding you up.”

“Just you wait until you get a boyfriend,” Cormoran threatened good naturedly, heading to the front door.

He and Ilsa took their time walking down to the beach whilst she talked about what she’d been up to for the previous couple of days. Her job hunt had finally paid off and she had secured a job at a small hotel on the edge of the village. The owners were somewhat eccentric, but the money was good. Cormoran was pleased for her, and even more pleased not to have to discuss his mother or try to fill any awkward silences.

A bonfire was well underway by the time they arrived, and one of the group, who fancied himself as DJ had brought his ghetto blaster and several CD’s along with a cassette of the current top 40, sneakily recorded from the radio the previous weekend.

A pit had been dug in the sand to keep the various contributions to the ‘bar’ cold, and Cormoran added their ciders which Holly had been bribed to buy to the assorted cans and bottles. It had been a hot, humid day and several of their friends were still in swimsuits and in and out the surf.

As the evening progressed more and more people gathered around the bonfire to dance and drink. Andy, the wannabe DJ kept up a constant stream of house, dance and electro pop track and between the dancing and the bonfire no-one needed to worry about adding extra layers.

Cormoran flopped down on the sand and drained the last of his cider, watching his friends dance, and it occurred to him that Leda must have been to parties like this when she was teenager. He wondered what she was doing now. He had no idea where she would be going on tour with Whittaker and his band, or when she’d be back. He supposed she’d call at some point, despite the way things had been when she left. He wondered again about Joan’s outburst. He’d seen her cross before but never like she had been the previous night. And what had she meant by “we should have put a stop to it when we had the chance”?

Paul Jones, an acquaintance from school crashed onto the sand next to where Cormoran sat, lost in his thoughts. He’d been surprised to see him at the beach party, bearing in mind he was more of the goth persuasion than most of the teenagers there. Pale and chubby with a mop of artificially jet black hair, he was wearing a black vest top featuring the logo of an obscure death metal band, along with black combats garlanded with chains. Cormoran did his best to ignore his presence, but helped along by copious quantities of Diamond White, Paul seemed determined to chat, and completely oblivious to the fact he was being largely ignored.

“So…” he continued after the usual chat about exams, “Saw your mum around yesterday, she back for a holiday with her new fella?”

“No.”

“Pretty cool guy though…my cousin lives in London, he’s been to a couple of Necromantic gigs, reckons it’s only a matter of time before they make it really big. You’ll have to score us some tickets mate.”

“I don’t think so,” Cormoran replied coldly, getting to his feet and striding off to help himself to another drink, whilst Paul looked on, bemused.

Ilsa was running out of steam. She, Gwen and Penny had been dancing non-stop for over an hour and she was hot, tipsy and tired. She found her bag lying in the sand, pulled out a bottle of water and downed half of it before checking her watch. It was almost ten forty-five and she was supposed to be back by eleven at the latest. Her eyes searched the beach for Cormoran, they were supposed to be walking back together.

She asked a few people if they’d seen him, knowing he wouldn’t have just left without saying anything, but no-one knew where he was. She was just about to concede defeat and start heading home alone when she saw a familiar figure in the distance, heading up the slope to the small area of greensward that separated the beach from the main road.

She picked up her bag and coat and headed off in pursuit, eventually finding him on the wooden bench that overlooked the beach. She sat down next to him, but said nothing, for which he was grateful.

“I was just going to wait for you up here.”

“I know. Are you okay?”

He sighed.

“I thought she’d left him, but she’s gone back. She’s actually jacked in her job to go on tour with the idiot.”

“I’m sorry. How’s Lucy?”

“She was distraught yesterday, but Joan took her out today and she seems to have cheered up. I don’t know what’s going on with Ted and Joan, but she had a massive go at Mum before she left and Ted wasn’t pleased. There’s obviously more to it that they’re not telling us.”

Ilsa didn’t know what to say. Their houses were semi-detached, and it had been a hot summer’s evening with windows open. She had heard some of what had gone on the previous evening, albeit not enough to make sense of any of it. She simply nodded.

“What’ll happen if…” his voice was hoarse, and Ilsa felt a lump in her own throat. She’d been around for Cormoran through many previous Leda-induced trials and tribulations, but she’d never seem him like this. He drained the last of his cider.

“What’ll happen if Ted and Joan…fall out? I’ll be ok but Lucy can’t come back to London with me, you must’ve seen what she was like when she came back a couple of months ago. Some kid told her once that the way mum carries on she’ll be lucky if we didn’t end up in care…she’d never cope, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything…”

To his mortification his voice cracked and tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Fuck it,” he sniffed, wiping his face on the sleeve of his hoody.

“Come here,” said Ilsa gently, pulling him instinctively into a hug.

They sat like that for several minutes, listening to the movement of the nearby ocean, the distance sound of music and voices from further down the beach. Cormoran was reluctant to move, waiting for the embarrassment of having broken down in front of Ilsa to subside. However supportive and sympathetic she was, he still would rather she hadn’t seen him crying, but it was comforting to be held and wrapped in her familiar sent of sea salt and Body Shop coconut perfume.

Eventually he managed to pull back and meet her eye.

“Thanks…sorry,” he almost whispered.

“S’okay,” she replied softly.

They were still holding one another and for a moment time seemed to stand still, then all at once, without knowing how had made the first move, they were kissing.

Somewhere in the back of Ilsa’s mind she registered that he tasted, not only of strong cider, but of cigarettes. She knew he smoked, of course, and in the last week or two it had been one of the many factors she’d used to try and distract herself from thinking about what kissing her oldest friend might be like. Suddenly, with her hands in his hair and his tongue gently exploring her mouth, it didn’t seem to matter so much.

The sound of voices approaching the slipway beside them made them both pull away with a jolt, and they immediately registered the shock in one another’s eyes that they had overstepped the boundaries of their platonic friendship.

Cormoran looked out at the sea cleared his throat, searching for the right words, or in fact any words that might help them begin to dissect the situation. Ilsa checked her watch again, squinting in the light of the streetlamps.

“It’s gone eleven, we’re late already…”

“Yeah,”

“Best make a move then. You coming?” St Mawes was the safest place Ilsa knew but she didn’t want to walk home alone, or, if she was honest, Leave Cormoran brooding by himself. To her relief, he hauled himself to his feet and mustered a nervous smile.

“Let’s go.”

And they made their way back up the hill homeward, a loaded, uncomfortable silence hanging between them.


	9. Sailing on the Seven Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran and Ted go fishing. Cormoran discovers some things about his childhood and Ted has some advice.

The following morning, Joan was bustling round the kitchen preparing the last of the veg for Sunday lunch with help from Lucy, while Ted and Cormoran ate breakfast. Drying her hands, Joan slipped off the apron she was wearing over a floral sundress and looked over towards them.

“Are you coming to church with me and Lucy this morning?” Although the atmosphere of the previous day had diminished somewhat, there was a hint of challenge in the tone of her voice.

Ted finished his last mouthful of tea and looked over at his nephew, pushing bacon around his plate in a manner that was alarmingly unlike him. He’d barely said a word and even Lucy had refrained from her usual morning banter with her brother.

He gave Joan a look that spoke volumes.

“I was thinking I might take the boat out for a couple of hours,” he replied, “You’ll come along and give me a hand won’t you Corm? Might take a couple of rods and see if we can bring some mackerel back, what do you reckon?”

Cormoran didn’t respond, lost as he was in his own thoughts. Ted tried again.

“And if there’s no mackerel, we’ll see if there’s any mermaids fancy joining us for Sunday lunch and a pint at the Victory…”

“Sorry what was that?”

“Church with Aunt Joan and Lucy or fishing with me?”

“Oh, right. Fishing I guess.”

“Right, well if you’re not going to eat the rest of that bacon, pass it here and you can go and make a flask of tea up.”

On autopilot, Cormoran passed the plate to his uncle and went to fill the kettle, oblivious to the anxious looks from his aunt and sister.

* * *

The little Colvic twin-diesel fishing boat was Ted’s pride and joy, a gift to himself when he retired from the military. It’s blue and white paint was kept immaculate, and he and Joan had named her Martha, after Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, one of their favourite Motown bands when they had met in the late 1960s.

They clambered aboard and with Ted at the helm in the little cabin, headed out of St Mawes harbour and eastward up the coast toward Mevagissey. They travelled in companionable silence, Ted steering, whilst Cormoran prepared the fishing rods, for most of the journey, eventually coming to halt a little outside the outer harbour walls at Mevagissey, where they were most likely to catch mackerel.

Rods cast, Ted poured tea into the blue and white enamel mugs he kept in the boat’s tiny galley and handed one to Cormoran. The sun shone brightly on the surrounding water, the sea breeze keeping its intense heat to manageable levels. It would have been a perfect day for relaxing on the boat, had it not been for the events of the previous forty-eight hours weighing heavily on both their minds.

“It’s been a tricky few days, hasn’t it, Corm?” Ted finally asked, somewhat rhetorically.

“You could say that,” Cormoran replied, pausing before continuing nervously. “Are you and Joan okay?”

Ted smiled, but he looked thoughtful.

“We’re fine…”

“But?”

He sighed heavily.

“Joan gets frustrated with your mum, with her…lack of commitment, I suppose.”

“But she’s still our mum, and she does love us, even if she had a funny way of showing it at times.”

Cormoran recalled the excited look on her face on Friday as she’d announced her intention to go on tour with Whittaker. He took an angry gulp of tea, burning his throat in the process and bit back an expletive.

“That she does, but you’re right, she does love you and Lucy, still…”

Cormoran looked at his uncle expectantly. He didn’t know where this was going but there was clearly more to it. Ted didn’t meet his eye but continued gazing out to sea as he went on, his voice quieter.

“Joanie and I…we didn’t choose not to have children, we couldn’t have them…physically. It broke her heart when we found out we wouldn’t be able to have a baby of our own,” his voice was hoarse, “Nearly broke mine too to be honest.”

Cormoran didn’t know what to say in response to this revelation, and Ted didn’t expect him to. He drank more tea and swallowed the lump in his throat before going on.

“We’ve been so incredibly blessed to have you and Lucy in our lives, and to be able to play such an active role in caring for you both. But sometimes Joan struggles with the way your mum carries on. She just can’t understand why she would leave you to pursue…other things…It doesn’t seem fair to her that she never had the chance to be a mother, and Leda does but doesn’t always seem to realise what a privilege that is.”

Cormoran nodded slowly. He didn’t like to think of his Aunt Joan feeling so bitter and angry towards his mum, but he supposed he could understand why, even if he couldn’t fathom for the life of him why anyone would want to be a parent. Even now some of his friends talked about when they were older, getting married and having families. The idea of ever wanting either of those things baffled him. Not, he supposed, that Leda had probably planned to have either him or Lucy. The thought of his sister reminded him of the row on Friday night, and the question she’d asked him in the garden.

“Ted,” he began tentatively, “…on Friday, what did Joan mean when she said ’we should have stopped this when we had the chance?’”

The change in Ted’s demeanour was instant and palpable. His face drained of colour.

“I was hoping you might have missed that…or forgotten about it.”

“What did she mean?” Cormoran’s voice was harder now.

“Bear in mind what I’ve just told you about me and Joan while you’re listening to this okay?” Ted’s expression was anxious, something Cormoran couldn’t remember ever seeing before.

“Do you remember that place your Mum took you to, in Norfolk? You were eight and Lucy was six. We only found out a couple of years later what was really going on there when the police raided it and arrests were made. Thankfully you were too young to have been involved in any of the really bad stuff.”

Cormoran cast his mind back to the quasi mystical commune, where hallucinogenic drugs and bizarre rituals had been a way of life for the adults that lived there. His recollections were vague, but he could still feel the sense of dread that had washed over his eight year old self as he and Lucy had sat in the room they shared with Leda, Lucy huddled, terrified, under a grubby blanket, trying to block out of the sound of chanting. He remembered his own fear on the occasion his mother had passed out, and no-one had done anything to help her, insisting to him that it was a good thing. Leda had explained to him later that fasting was a way that could help towards achieving enlightenment. He had been too confused to ask any more about it.

“Yeah, I remember,” he said.

“When your mum finally left the place, she brought you down to us. She was in a terrible state, and she left you here and went back to London. It became apparent within a couple of weeks that your time there had affected both of you more than any of us realised to begin with. We got you and Lucy back into school, but you had a lot to catch up with. It frustrated the hell out of you and your behaviour, well, it wasn't the best as a result. Lucy had night terrors, and was wetting the bed regularly. I can't tell you how tough it was, watching the two of you go through all that...”

“I don’t remember any of it…apart from finding school a bit tricky for a while.”

“Thank God you don’t. Anyway, Joan said enough was enough, that we should contact social services and have something put in place to stop Leda rocking up and taking the pair of you off again. That she obviously wasn’t a fit parent, which, to be fair, at the time, she wasn’t.”

Cormoran tried to process this information. He loved his Aunt Joan, she was warm, stable, loving and he was grateful for everything she and Ted had done for him and Lucy. But Leda was his mum, and he felt a strong pull of loyalty to the woman who had given birth to him and undoubtedly loved him and his sister, even if her judgement wasn’t always the best. Ted continued.

“I was against it. Your mum has made some bloody terrible decisions over the years, but as you say, she loves you both, and she’s my sister. I wanted to support her to try and get into a place that was a bit more stable. But then Leda started talking about taking you back to London. She was temping and living in a shared house on an ad hoc basis. You and Lucy had only just started getting back on your feet and the last thing you needed was to be dragged back to an unstable environment. Joan called social services one day when I was at work. I arrived home to find that you and Lucy had been dispatched next door for tea and there was a social worker in the sitting room.”

Cormoran could feel colour rising in his cheeks, his jaw clenching. Joan had really tried to have them formally removed from their own mother?

“She was trying to protect you, that’s all. I convinced the social worker that it was blip rather than a long-term thing. We spoke to Leda and managed to get her to see sense – that it was better for you to stay with us until she was properly sorted. The school and social services kept an eye on things in the background for a few months, and eventually your Mum got herself back together and everything went back to normal.”

“Normal?!” Cormoran snorted.

“I know. And I know that can’t have been easy to hear,” Ted said softly, “…but please, go easy on Joan. She thought she was doing the right thing at the time, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes wonder if I should have supported her more. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that call from Lucy a few months back or the look of relief on her face when we got there.”

Cormoran thought of the state Lucy had been in when, sick of Whittaker’s loitering around the flat, constant innuendos, leering and general creepiness, she’d finally run from the flat one evening to the call box down the road and begged Ted and Joan to come and take her back to Cornwall. They’d wanted him to go with them, but he’d refused to leave his mother alone with Whittaker. Lucy was like a different person since she’d returned to St Mawes and he wondered how much happier, how much more confident she might have been now had she been spared the last eight years of Leda-induced instability. He felt disloyal thinking about it, but a part of him could understand Joan’s actions.

They fished side by side for several minutes, keeping the mackerel but returning anything else to the water. Eventually Ted broke the silence.

“How was your beach party last night?”

Cormoran pondered for a minute. “It was okay.”

“Ilsa enjoy herself? You were a bit late back, weren’t you? Ted saw his nephew’s cheeks flush as he concentrated a little too hard on baiting his hook.

“Yeah, I think she had fun, I didn’t really see that much of her to be honest.”

“Hmmm…”

The tetchy teenager in Cormoran got the better of him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just…well, you’ve both grown up a lot since Christmas, and everything’s changing for you and your friends, going off to work and college. It can be a strange time.”

“I s’pose.”

“You know it’s completely normal to start seeing people in a different light as you get older, especially when you haven’t seen them for a while? The changes are more noticeable.”

Cormoran said nothing, his gaze intent on the horizon. What was it with the adults in his life? It was like they had a bloody sixth sense, he though irritably. Ted saw him saw tense and smiled to himself. He’d noticed the slight change in dynamic between Cormoran and the girl next door since he’d been back in St Mawes.

“The thing you have to remember, is that girls – and I mean all of them, not Ilsa specifically…” he went on, choosing his words carefully, “…are just people, in the nicest possible way. Be a good friend, be kind, be respectful and the rest will take care of itself if it’s meant to be.”

He checked his watch, no keener to continue the conversation than Cormoran, who was grateful to have caught another fish and painstakingly removing it from the hook in a desperate attempt to avoid having to meet Ted’s eye.

“I’ll shut up now, but if you ever did want to talk…”

“I know.”

“Right, let’s start heading back then. I’ve just made my peace with Joanie, if we’re late for Sunday lunch I’ll be back to square one!”


	10. It's In His Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilsa confides in big sister Holly the day after the beach party.

It was far too hot and far too stuffy. Ilsa battled the duvet off the bed and onto the floor, wincing slightly as the after-effects of slightly too much illicit alcohol made her head throb. She’d known at the time that the bright blue, coconut flavoured concoction that Gwen had convinced her to try probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

_Oh shit!_

There was something else that probably wasn’t a good idea, she thought, as the memory of snogging Cormoran flashed through her mind. The walk back home had been excruciating, the conversation stilted. She wished that she was starting her new job that morning instead of the following day, she’d be bound to see him around otherwise.

She headed for the bathroom, splashed her overheated face with cold water and made her way downstairs to find both her parents and Holly eating breakfast in the kitchen. She made eye contact with the three of them somewhat sheepishly as she opened the fridge and poured a large glass of juice.

“Ilsa,” her mum began, “I know you were with Cormoran and you weren’t that late but try and have a bit of consideration another time. You know I’d had an early shift. I could’ve done without waiting up until eleven as it was.”

“Sorry mum, I forgot Dad was out last night. Corm…well, you heard some of what happened on Friday…he needed to talk and we just lost track of time.” Even as she spoke, she could feel the colour rushing to her cheeks, betraying her, and caught the brief upward flicker of her sister’s eyebrows.

She filled a bowl with cereal and picked up her juice.

“It’s baking in here, I’m going to sit in the garden…”

“Okay love, just bear in mind what I’ve said.”

“Will do.”

Ilsa slipped through the French doors and briefly admired the view before heading down the garden to the sheltered spot with an old wrought iron bench. It was cool and peaceful in the shade, just what she needed to think through the events of the previous evening. Holly, however, had different ideas.

“Good night then, was it?” she grinned, striding barefoot through the damp grass.

Ilsa eyed her warily.

“It was fine.”

“Your first beach party with booze and it was ‘fine’? What really happened.”

“Nothing. Talked, danced, tried some weird American drink…20/20? Came home.”

“You’re being defensive…”

“I’m not…it was just a standard beach party.”

“…and you went bright red when you were talking about losing track of time with Corm,” she couldn’t resist teasing.

Ilsa picked up her glass and shoved it roughly into her empty cereal bowl with a clatter as she got to her feet.

“For God’s sake, first it’s Lucy, now you’re joining in, will you just bloody give it a rest! I’ve got a headache, I’m going back to bed!”

Holly watched Ilsa march back up the garden, vigorously wash her breakfast things and disappear down the hall towards the stairs. Something had definitely happened, she thought, she just had to find out what.

* * *

Ilsa hurled herself onto her bed and threw the duvet over her head. It was even hotter than when she’d woken up, but she wanted to shut out the world. Her self-imposed cocooning lasted all of ninety seconds. She couldn’t shut the world out, much less the thoughts racing through her head.

Over and over again she replayed the events of the previous night. Had he kissed her first? Had she kissed him first? She knew she hadn’t had that much to drink, but it was impossible to remember who made the first move. If she could just figure that out, she thought, she might know how to tackle the situation.

She stayed in her room for over an hour, listened to her Dad heading out on his bike, her mum greeting Joan and Lucy on the front path as the three of them headed off to church, Holly pottering about in her bathroom and the bedroom, singing along to Madonna.

Eventually she heard Cormoran and Ted in the neighbouring back garden. She fought the urge for a split second before heading over to her window and watching them as they made their way down to the gate at the far end that led straight onto the road to the boat shed. They were chatting amiably as they walked, Cormoran giving no sign that he had anything on his mind. Ilsa wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Then, as they went through the gate, Ted in front, Cormoran turned around and briefly looked up at her bedroom window. Ilsa ducked out of the way, she hoped, quickly enough.

“Shit!”

Her heart was racing.

“This is bloody ridiculous…” she muttered to herself. What she needed was a distraction. She opened her wardrobe and rummaged in the bottom for her long-forgotten school bag, pulled out a notebook and pencil case, then pulled down the box containing the textbooks she’d ordered in preparation for her A-levels and retrieved the as yet unopened law book.

She was unaware of quite how loudly she was talking to herself and how vigorously she was searching for a distraction, until she heard a light tap on the door.

“Ilsa are you okay in there?”

It was Holly, and this time she wasn’t teasing, but sounded genuinely concerned. They had their moments, as all siblings do, but she and Ilsa had always been close.

“I’m fine,” Ilsa replied, but she couldn’t help her voice crack, and defeated she slumped on the floor and let the tears come.

The door clicked and Holly’s newly permed head appeared around it.

“Ilsa…bloody hell, what’s happened?”

Ilsa couldn’t reply, and Holly immediately dropped to the floor next to her and pulled her into hug.

“Come on, you can tell me,” a wash of dread suddenly crept over her. “Is it to do with last night? You didn’t get some pushy lad trying it on, did you?” Holly had four years of beach parties under her belt, and she knew there had been the odd incident amongst her own friendship group. Nothing really serious, but still…

Ilsa sniffed and gulped, stumbled to her feet and over to her dressing table for tissues and sat on the edge of her bed. Holly moved to sit with her.

“Corm and I…”

“You’ve not fallen out have you?”

“No…” Ilsa began to sob again, “We…we…kissed.”

Holly’s eyebrows shot up, then she grinned.

“Blimey Ils, was it that bad?”

Through the haze of tears and snot, Ilsa couldn’t help but laugh.

“No…” she couldn’t look Holly in the eye.

“Right, I need to hear about this from the beginning, but first, I’m going to make tea, and you are going to have a shower. Off you go…then you can tell big sis all about it.”

* * *

An hour later, Ilsa had told Holly everything, from the weirdness at the prom, to the strange atmosphere between her and Cormoran, and finally about the kiss the previous night, and the conversation leading up to it.

“So, drink had been taken, and it was all a bit emotional, and you had a moment? That’s really not the end of the world…happens all the time,” stated Holly, reassuringly.  
Ilsa eyed her, unconvinced.

“Does it? Has it happened to you?”

“Well…no, but I’m sure it does happen a lot.”

“Great. Very helpful. I don’t want to lose my best friend over this.”

“Look, Ils, whatever happened last night, it sounds like it was a mutual thing, so you just have to decide what you want and talk to him. I mean, do you want to go out with him…like that?”

“NO! Well, I don’t think so. I mean, that’s my gut reaction, but when I see him, it’s like he’s not just Corm anymore. I don’t think I really noticed until he came back this summer that he’s actually a boy.”

Holly sniggered. Ilsa shot her a reproachful look.

“Sorry. Look, you’ve both grown up and changed a lot over the last six months. For what it’s worth, I think he’s probably only just realised you’re a girl too. And if that realisation means that you both want to be more than friends, that is okay you know.”

“But I don’t know if that is what I want. I think I just want to be friends still, but…”

“When you’re with him the teenage hormones kick in and you’re not so sure?”

Ilsa blushed furiously.

“It doesn’t help that it’s all my friends talk about lately.”

“It?” Holly pulled her most innocent face, and Ilsa slapped her gently on the arm.

“You know what I mean.”

There had been plenty of gossip even before they’d gone on study leave about who had done what with whom. Ilsa had heard in more detail than she would have liked about Dave and Penny’s first time the weekend after they’d finished their exams, and Sean was not, as the saying goes, Gwen’s first rodeo.

“It’s hard not to be curious…”

“…and Corm is a safe person to be curious about, but you’ve just realised he’s a boy and you’ve slow danced with him and now you’ve snogged and suddenly he doesn’t seem quite so safe anymore…in a good way, maybe?”

A smiled twitched at the corner of Ilsa's mouth as she remembered the previous evening. Cormoran’s hand in her hair, the other on the bare skin at her waist below her cropped t-shirt, his tongue sliding against hers, confident but gentle. She sighed softly.

Holly was watching her with barely concealed amusement.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t such a bad kiss?”

Ilsa wrinkled her nose.

“It was really nice,” she smiled ruefully, “If it was anyone other than Corm I’d be desperate for them to ask me out.”

“You know there are worse things than going out with your best friend. You know each other really well, you have stuff in common, he makes you laugh, you can trust him. All those things are super important in a relationship, especially your first one, and especially, well…you know.”

Holly’s mind floated back to her first boyfriend, Bryan. They’d got together in the first year at sixth form and lasted just over year. He’d been her first, and she his. At seventeen their fledgling sexual relationship hadn’t been the stuff of Cosmo articles, but it had been pretty good, she thought, for a couple of inexperienced teenagers. She’d loved him and trusted him and knew he’d felt the same, so even when they decided to call it a day, she had no regrets, and they’d managed to stay in touch since, even meeting up for a drink once or twice when he’d come back from university.

“This isn’t helping, and what if I did go out with him and it all went horribly wrong?”

“Look, sis, you have two options here. You can take the bull by the horns and talk to him about it, or you can pretend nothing has happened and see if he raises the subject. Either way, I don’t think you need to worry about losing Corm as a friend, you’ve been close for too long for a kiss to come between you.”

Ilsa nodded. She supposed those were her only options. She’d have to have a think. Cormoran had gone out with his uncle and she was starting her new job tomorrow so she wouldn’t see him for a few days. Everything would no doubt fall in to place with a bit of space from one another.

“Right,” said Holly. “You look like you’re feeling better. So, come and help me make some lunch and let’s veg out in the garden for the afternoon. And for God’s sake put the textbook away. You’ll have plenty of time for study in September!”

Ilsa laughed, and followed Holly downstairs to the kitchen, leaving the book forgotten on her bed.


	11. Saltwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corm and Joan make their peace, but he still doesn't know what to do about Ilsa.  
> A day out surfing with Dave Polworth helps him make a decision.

Cormoran felt much happier after his talk with Ted. He watched Joan as she bustled around the kitchen, cooking the traditional roast lunch even though it was far too hot to be indoors, talking about the upcoming church summer fayre and all the things she and Lucy still needed to buy for her return to school in September.

“We’d best take you into Truro some time too Corm,” she smiled fondly at him from where she was stirring gravy on the stove, “Can’t have you starting you A-levels without everything you need.”

He looked at her thoughtfully.

“I don’t want to get too much stuff while I’m here,” he replied, “I’ll only have to cart it back on the train.”

“Nonsense, Ted or I will drive you back. Make a list and let me know when you want to go shopping.”

He could feel Ted’s eyes on him, trying to gauge his reaction in light of the revelations of earlier in the day. If he was honest, there was still an undercurrent of anger that Joan had gone against Ted’s wishes, and in doing so could have jeopardised his and Lucy’s relationships with Leda. But every time he saw his sister, laughing and relaxed in their safe, comfortable home, he knew exactly why she’d acted the way she had.

He smiled back at Joan. “That would be great, thanks. I’ll let you know.”

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Cormoran and Lucy washed up and then he headed to his room to get his book, planning a lazy afternoon in the garden. However, when he spotted Ilsa and Holly from his bedroom window, he thought better of it, and lay on his bed to read, and eventually doze after a fairly sleepless night. Ted woke him at five for their customary Sunday teatime trip to the Victory. Lucy joined them and they were served quickly before making their way back out to the benches at the front of the pub.

“Ted, come and join us,” called a familiar deep Cornish voice, and Cormoran found him trailing in Ted’s wake to join Ilsa’s parents and Holly at their table, cringing internally as he did so. Ted and Lucy slid onto the bench first leaving him sitting opposite Holly. Soon they were engaged in conversation, whilst Cormoran gazed awkwardly into his shandy. He presumed Ilsa must be in the loo, but when, after several minutes she had failed to emerge, he asked Holly where she was.

“She stayed at home,” she replied, her gaze cool. “Between you and me, I don’t think she’s quite recovered from last night.”

Cormoran narrowly avoided choking on his drink.

“Yeah, it was a good party,” he mumbled.

“So I heard.”

_Fuck, had Ilsa said something?_

Deeply uncomfortable, Cormoran swiftly finished his drink and told Ted that he needed to head back and call Nick about the arrangements for his visit. Ted nodded his agreement and watched him make his way back up the hill before going to order another round.

* * *

The following few days passed without Cormoran and Ilsa seeing one another. Ilsa started her job, and Cormoran spent most of Monday evening wondering how she had gotten on. Normally he’d have been straight round to ask as soon as she’d gotten home, but he just couldn’t quite bring himself to call on her yet. He felt guilty and grumpy but far too awkward to do anything out it. He knew he’d have to talk to her eventually, but it seemed sensible to get his thoughts in order and have some idea of what he was going to say first.

The problem was, he just couldn’t get his thoughts in order. She was his best friend, but he fancied her, but he couldn’t quite get his head around the idea of her actually being his girlfriend. Every so often he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to live with fancying his best mate until it blew over or he met someone else fancied more, then, much to his chagrin, his subconscious desires would invade his dreams and he’d wake up to his body making it very clear what it wanted, even if his brain wasn’t entirely in agreement. It was torture.

On Wednesday, Lucy went out with a friend from school and her family for the day, and Joan took Cormoran shopping in Truro. They picked up stationery in WHSmith and ordered his textbooks from a local bookshop before stopping at a little café for toasties.

Their conversation had been matter of fact all morning and focussed on his starting sixth form in September where he would be studying English literature, history, law and sociology, assuming he achieved high enough grades to take all four A-levels. As they sat in the café a tense silence fell over the table. He watched Joan fiddle restlessly with her paper napkin in between mouthfuls. Eventually she put down her half eaten toastie.

“I know Ted spoke to you about some…things on Sunday,” she started, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Cormoran nodded slowly, his mouth full of sandwich.

“I appreciate you not giving me a hard time about what happened all those years ago,” she continued, “…and I want you to know that I have nothing against your mum. I know she loves you in ways that I…we…can’t, and that not all of her decisions, unconventional as they might be, have been bad for you and Lucy.”

“We’ve had some great times with her, and we’ve learned a lot, about people, fitting in…”

“I know. You are growing up to be a really lovely young man, and a lot of that is because of your mum and the experiences you’ve had with her. But at the time I did…what I did, you and Lucy were just a pair of frightened kids, and I was frightened for you…”

She broke off, pressing the napkin to the corners of her eyes. No one was more adverse than Joan to the notion of a public scene.

“I know,” Cormoran replied, reaching across the table and hiving his aunt’s hand a quick, awkward squeeze. “I can see how much happier Lucy is since she’s been back in St Mawes, and although we both love our mum, we wouldn’t be the people we’re growing up to be without the stability you and Ted have given us.”

“Oh Corm,” Joan sniffed, gulped back a mouthful of tea, and excused herself to the ladies, emerging several minutes later, still slightly tearstained beneath freshly applied make-up.

“C’mon then,” she chivvied him, “Finish that milkshake and let’s go and have a look around the market while we’re here.”

* * *

Although he was glad to have cleared the air with Joan, Cormoran was delighted to get out of the house on Thursday for a day at Fistral Beach with Dave, who had managed to bag them free wetsuit and body board hire from his part time job.

After spending almost the entire morning in the water, they stopped for pasties from the café at the end of vast expanse of sand, and the slightly warm cider that they had managed to purchase on his way to Newquay. It was a near perfect day, hot, sunny and with the schools not yet finished for the summer, the beach was less crowded than it would be in a few weeks, and mostly filled with teenagers of a similar age to Cormoran and Dave, who wasted no time eyeing up any attractive girls that happened to pass their way.

“You’re going out with Penny, you cheeky bugger,” remonstrated Cormoran, as Dave pointed out yet another gaggle of teenage girls wearing an assortment of skimpy bikinis and eye-wateringly short shorts.

“I know, and she’s awesome, but there’s no harm in looking. Speaking of which, you should see the girls my cousin hangs out with, you know, the one that lives in Australia? I’m trying to wangle a trip out there for my eighteenth…nothing but surfing, girls and barbecues – that’s got to be a perfect way to celebrate, right?”

Cormoran chuckled and shook his head, his attention wandering for a moment to a large family who had commandeered a patch of beach about twenty feet away. The mother was fiddling with a parasol, trying to angle it to protect a sleeping toddler from the early afternoon sun. Meanwhile the father was attempting to wrangle two fair-haired boys of about eight and four who were clearly doing their best to wind up their sister. The little girl, who Cormoran guessed to be about six, appeared to be as fiery as her strawberry blonde hair, and he couldn’t help but smile as stood with her hands on her hips and gave them a stern telling off, before picking up her bucket and spade and stomping off to continue building her sandcastle in peace. She could probably give Lucy a few lessons in sticking up for herself, me mused.

“So c’mon Corm,” Dave’s voice cut through his drifting concentration, “You’ve been back a couple of weeks now. You must have your eye on someone? Bit of a holiday romance…”

He winked and nudged his friend, indicating that it wasn’t exactly romance he was thinking about.

“No, not really,” replied Cormoran, not meeting his friend’s eye. Well, he wasn’t lying, was he? He didn’t have his eye on Ilsa...as such.

Dave scoffed. “Come off it. I saw the looks you were getting at prom and at the beach party. You could have your pick. Doesn’t hurt that you look about eighteen, girls like that you know, you ought to make the most of it. You can’t just spend the whole holiday hanging out with Ilsa for female company.”

Cormoran paused for a moment, before replying carefully.

“I don’t see why not, she’s my best mate. Not everything has to be about sex you know.”

Dave looked at him, his face a picture of shock and horror, and reached out to put his hand momentarily on Cormoran’s forehead.

“Bloody hell mate, are you feeling alright? When you told me about the Lisa bird in London I thought you were pretty keen to get the job done, if you know what I mean?”

Hot and frustrated, Cormoran wasn’t really concentrating on what he was saying.

“Yeah but it’s not like that with me and Ilsa…”

Dave eyed him suspiciously. “I didn’t say it was,” he said, watching as his friend flushed noticeably in a way that was clearly nothing to do with the rising temperature, “Unless…is that why you’re holding out? Because you fancy Ilsa?”

“No! It’s not, look can we just drop the subject.”

“No…what’s going on with you and Ilsa?”

“Absolutely nothing, give it a rest Dave, yeah? And don’t you dare mention this conversation to Penny.”

Dave frowned and took that as confirmation that was very much something going on with Ilsa, or at least that Cormoran wanted there to be. There was a slightly dangerous glint in his friend's eye, however, that put him off pressing the matter further. Instead he picked up his body board and got to his feet.

“Right, I’m going back in. You coming?”

“Not just yet, I’ll see you in a minute.”

Cormoran watched his friend jog down the sand and into the water, his equilibrium now thoroughly disturbed by thoughts of Ilsa…again. He needed to sort this out, and ideally before the weekend. Nick was arriving on Saturday afternoon, and he didn’t want any awkwardness. He was keen for his best friends to meet. He was sure they’d get on and it would be fun to hang out together when Ilsa wasn’t working. Eventually he dozed off in the sun, having resolved to call on Ilsa that night and talk about what had happened at the beach party.


	12. Pandora's Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran and Ilsa tackle the elephant in the room.

Cormoran’s resolve to talk to Ilsa only strengthened over the course of the day, but when he arrived home early that evening, Ted was in the hallway, on the phone. He held out the handset to Cormoran, covering the end with his large palm, and looked at him beseechingly.

“It’s your mum, Lucy’s refused to talk to her…”

Cormoran rolled his eyes and took the phone from him uncle.

“You alright darlin?”

He thought Leda sounded upset, and she was, but not because of Whittaker. She was hurt that Lucy had refused to speak to her, although Cormoran could immediately understand why. From the background noise it was clear she was with the band, setting up for a gig. He could hear Whittaker’s cloying tones as he carried out a mic check at what Cormoran suspected was unnecessary volume, no doubt with the intention of making his presence felt even at the other end of the phone.

 _Wanker_.

By the time he’d finished chatting to his mum, who, Lucy’s rejection aside appeared to be having the time of her life in Dublin with Deathcult, Joan was calling them for dinner. He helped wash up, then Nick called to let him know what time his train was arriving at Truro on Saturday afternoon.

He checked his watch. It was just gone nine, too late to call round to Ilsa’s unannounced, and besides he was tired after a long day of surfing. He headed up to his room with the new book he’d purchased in Truro, a thriller by and American writer called James Ellroy, having decided to try again the following day.

Cormoran was on his way down the garden path the following morning when Holly emerged from the neighbouring front door.

“Morning Corm,” she greeted him.

“Morning,” he squirmed slightly, still convinced that Ilsa might had said something about their kiss the previous weekend. He knew she’d found out from a friend about the slow dance at the prom too and struggled to meet her eye.

“I was just on my way round to yours. Is Ilsa in?”

“No, she had an early start at work today.”

“Oh.”

Cormoran looked hesitant. He wanted to ask when she’d be back, but that would give his potential visit an element of importance he wasn’t sure he wanted Holly to be aware of. He had nothing planned, he could just keep an eye out until she returned home later.

Holly immediately saw his uncertainty and took pity on him, despite the many occasions during the previous few days when she’d castigated him, both mentally and to Ilsa, for not making the effort to show his face sooner.

“She finishes at three o’clock,” she told him. “If you go past the main bit of the hotel where the balcony is, past the white-washed building next door, there’s a driveway up the side. That’s where the staff door is.”

For the first time Cormoran managed to meet her eye, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. Holly was not quite as protective of Ilsa as he was of Lucy, but he knew he’d be in for a earful if he fucked this up.

“Great,” he smiled nervously, “Thanks.”

* * *

Ilsa finished her shift that day hot, red-faced and dishevelled. She had been waitressing and helping in the kitchen since seven, and they’d had a lunch party in from a solicitors in Truro in addition to all the usual tourists. She had hoped she might get a chance to chat about her future career path, but they had been an old school firm comprised largely of boorish, late middle-aged men. Ilsa had not been oblivious to the lecherous glances at her figure in her traditional uniform, which hung shorter than was ideal due to her height, or the comments between the men that they thought she couldn’t hear, but had got steadily more audible as their wine consumption had gone on. She had made a mental note to ensure she didn’t apply there for work experience.

She changed out of her uniform in the staff toilets, pulling on chino shorts and a navy t-shirt and swapping her black leather pumps for trainers more suited to the fifteen-minute walk home. She splashed her face with cold water, made a half-arsed job of tidying up her ponytail and headed out into the sunshine. Normally she’d tidy herself up a bit, but she was just desperate to get home, have a shower and flake out in the garden with a magazine.

She stopped abruptly in her tracks when she saw Cormoran’s familiar figure, leaning against the small stone wall opposite the end of the hotel driveway. He blew a stream of smoke from the cigarette he had hoped would calm his nerves, ground it out on the tarmac and smiled uncertainly at her.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. Holly said you finished at three. Thought you might like some company for the walk home.”

“Oh, right. Okay…”

“How’s the job going?”

By the time Ilsa had told him about that day’s trying lunch shift, then gone on to talk about all the other aspects of the job she’d learned about that week, the eccentric owners, some funny stories relating to guests and her lack of experience in the hospitality trade, they were over halfway home and had both relaxed considerably in each other’s company, but still there was the unspoken issue of the kiss hanging between them.

“What have you been up to this week?” asked Ilsa brightly, anxious not to leave any awkward gaps in the conversation.

“Chilling out, shopping for college with Joan, surfing with Dave...” he tailed off.

_I’ve missed you._

Cormoran couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone almost a week without speaking whilst he was in Cornwall. Living next door, they invariably bumped into each other most days even if they hadn’t arranged to meet up. He realised that he’d not seen her since Ted’s revelations on the boat on Sunday and that under any normal circumstances she would have been the first person who would have confided in. He’d not discussed what he’d learned about his family that day with anyone. Lucy, much to his relief, had not wished to talk anymore about Leda’s departure or the furious row that had accompanied it, and Dave, whilst a good mate, didn’t really do feelings.

“It’s been strange not seeing you this week,” Ilsa said quietly, as if she had read his thoughts. “I mean, we’re always bumping into each other usually.”

She was well aware that she’d tried her best to avoid him for the first couple of days, but then she’d been too engrossed with her new job to give it much thought, at least when she was working or with her family. In bed at night, she’d wrestled with her wayward thoughts and feelings, and concluded that she would just go with the flow and see what happened. If she wasn’t sure herself what she wanted, there wasn’t really any other option.

“Hmmm,” he agreed.

They walked in silence for a few minutes both bracing themselves for the other to address the elephant in the room.

“Ilsa…”

“Corm…”

“Sorry, ladies first,” he grinned weakly.

“No, it’s fine you go…”

He could tell from the expression on her face she meant it. She clearly didn’t want to be the one to show her hand first. He sighed and slowed his pace to turn and look at her as they walked.

“About last Saturday…I…um…I’m really sorry if I overstepped the mark at the end of the evening.”

He was mumbling slightly, a furious blush creeping up his neck and over his cheeks. It was really quite endearing and through her own embarrassment, Ilsa had to fight an urge to giggle at her normally confident friend’s predicament.

“S’okay,” she replied softly, her own face flushing as she continued, “To be fair, I did…ahem…overstep back…”

Cormoran chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose you did.”

Ilsa stopped at her front gate and looked at up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

“So…friends then?”

“Always. Oh, speaking of friends, my mate Nick’s coming down from London tomorrow for the week and Ted’s doing a barbecue in the evening if you fancy it. Dave and Penny are coming round too.”

Ilsa looked disappointed and for a moment Cormoran wondered if he’d said something wrong.

“Did Holly not tell you earlier? We’re off on holiday tomorrow.”

It was Cormoran’s turn to look crestfallen.

“I didn’t think you were going away this year.”

“We weren’t, but someone at Dad’s work has an apartment in Rhodes and one of their bookings fell through. Mum managed to find stupidly cheap last-minute flights on Teletext…we leave at midday tomorrow.”

“Bugger! Nick gets in at half two. I was looking forward to introducing my two best mates.”

“Yeah, from what you’ve said about him he sounds like fun. Another time I guess.”

“Yep. Well, have a safe flight and enjoy your holiday.”

“I will. I’ll send you a postcard,” Ilsa winked, as she disappeared through her front door.

Cormoran paused for a minute at his own front gate, then headed back down the hill towards the beach, rummaging in his jeans for his cigarettes and matches.


	13. Things that make you go hmmm...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick enjoys his break at St Mawes. Lucy surprises Cormoran...but not in a good way!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting. Back to working from home this week, now combined with caring for my elderly dad whose health has taken a turn for the worse recently, so running short on time and brain space. Hoping to get this finished over the next few days...so watch this space!

It was late afternoon by the time Cormoran, Ted and Nick arrived back home from Truro station. The breeze of the previous day had dropped, and the sun was warm and golden over the little village of St Mawes, the sea twinkling all shades of blue in the distance. Cormoran couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit proud as he watched Nick’s expression of surprise.  
  
It was a far cry from the East End of London.

The lads headed straight upstairs, Nick desperate to freshen up after the lengthy journey, and Cormoran not wanting to face Joan’s wrath if someone tripped over his friend’s large holdall in the awkwardly shaped hallway.

Nick dumped his bag on the bottom bunk and dropped down beside it, ducking his head slightly and giving the room a quick recce. It was the smallest by far of the four bedrooms but had a small window seat from which there was a distant view of the sea for which Cormoran had been more than happy to decline the larger bedroom at the front of the house that was now Lucy’s.

“Are these your friends from school down here?”

“Yeah,” replied Cormoran, seeing Nick indicate the photo of prom night that was pinned to his cork noticeboard, the six of them sitting on hay bales atop the tractor. “That’s Dave and Penny, Sean and Gwen, and that’s Ilsa.”

The picture was one of a handful that Holly had managed to take just before Ted, Joan and her parents had come out insisting on them posing more formally. None of them were completely looking at the camera because Cormoran had just made a joke and Ilsa was next to him, head thrown back, laughing, the sun glinting off her hair. Nick raised his eyebrows.

“That’s your best friend in Cornwall? And that’s all she is? Really?” his voice oozed scepticism.  
  
Cormoran did his best not to think about the kiss of the previous weekend.

“Yup, best mate…since we were six.”

Nick shook his head in amazement. “You’re bloody mad, mate. Is she coming tonight?”

"Sorry, you're out of luck. She's on holiday."

"Don't supposed she's back this week," grinned Nick, giving a cheeky waggle of his eyebrows.

"Nope, I'm not sure when she's back, but she only left today, so next Saturday I guess?"

"Bugger."

A short while later they meandered into the kitchen, where the smell of smoke from the barbecue was wafting through the open doors and Joan and Lucy were preparing salad and rolls. Lucy was dancing along to the radio, but stopped, embarrassed as she heard Cormoran introduce Nick and Joan.

“…and you remember my sister, Lucy?” he added, waving in her general direction as he helped himself to a couple of Cokes from the fridge.

“Yeah, I do. Hi Lucy.”

“Hi Nick,” she replied, not quite meeting his eye.

Although she’d lived with Cormoran and Leda for a while, Lucy had never really met Nick properly, or any of her brother’s London friends for that matter. She saw them in the grounds at school from time and time, and would occasionally get a wave of acknowledgment from Cormoran himself if they were going through a particularly rough patch at home, but at two and half years his junior, and painfully shy, she would never have considered actually talking to them. Neither of Leda’s children ever brought friends home.

Dave and Penny arrived a short while later, along with Emma, Lucy’s best friend in St Mawes who’d been invited to stay over that night as well, to assuage Lucy’s resentment at Cormoran having a house guest and keep her out of the older teenagers’ way.

The evening went well. Nick with his perpetually relaxed manner hit it off instantly with both Dave and Penny, whilst Lucy and Emma tucked themselves further down the garden with a pile of Smash Hits magazines and Lucy’s Walkman. It was a long garden and the wind was blowing in just the right direction to spare the rest of the gathering from having to listen to their attempt to learn the lyrics of the latest song by New Kids on the Block.

Ted was in his element manning the barbecue with sausages and chicken, and Aunt Joan’s homemade burgers.

At ten o’clock, Dave and Penny announced their intention to get going. A look passed briefly between Cormoran and Nick who were both keen to seize the opportunity to get out with them for half an hour and have a smoke.

“We’ll come with you, stretch our legs. I’ll just go and grab a jacket.”

Cormoran had little need for an extra layer but was keen to show off his purchase from Truro market earlier in the week. The second-hand, black leather biker jacket was well-worn in the best possible way, and the inner pockets provided the perfect hiding place for his fags and matches.

He padded up the stairs barefoot, rolling his eyes at the sound of girly laughter from Lucy’s room, where she and Emma had retired some time earlier. They clearly hadn’t heard him coming as their chatter about boys continued unabated.

“See…I told you, didn’t I?” He heard Lucy stage whisper to her friend conspiratorially.

“Yeah, you did but…” Emma paused mid-sentence, and Cormoran suspected they had heard him. Her voice dropped and he heard nothing for several seconds, until Lucy squealed in horror at whatever her friend had just said.

He chuckled quietly to himself and headed back downstairs, making a mental note to drop a few hints to Joan that Lucy’s mind might not be entirely on crafts, cooking and schoolwork these days.

* * *

Sunday saw a rare offer of flexibility from Joan, who suggested they had dinner that evening rather than at lunchtime, so that Ted and ‘the boys’ could spend a whole day out on the boat. The idea was greeted with enthusiasm from all three of them, and, much to Cormoran’s annoyance, Lucy, who begged to go along with them.

“I don’t think so, love,” replied Aunt Joan. “You’ve got homework due in tomorrow and I could do with a hand in the kitchen. Besides it’ll be a long day and the boys will be fishing I expect. You hate fishing.”

“I suppose,” she replied, grumpily.

“Another time, poppet,” soothed Ted. “Holidays coming up soon, we’ll have a few days out then…go for a ride, find a nice café for lunch.”

They arrived home early that evening, relaxed and slightly sunburnt despite Joan’s insisting they take a bottle of Factor 30 each. They hadn’t done much fishing in the end, the freezer was still full of mackerel from the previous weekend’s trip, but they’d managed to spot seals and porpoises, much to Nick’s amazement, and were more than ready for Joan’s roast chicken dinner by six o clock. Wedges of pavlova followed, a relatively new, and in Joan’s opinion, somewhat exotic addition to the menu.

“This is great Mrs P,” said Nick enthusiastically as he accepted a second helping. His mum was a school cook and his sweet tooth was somewhat legendary amongst his friends and family.

“Well, I can’t take the credit on this occasion,” smiled Joan, “The pavlova was all Lucy’s work.”

“Good job, Luce, I’ll have to get you to write the recipe down for me to take home to mum.”

Lucy beamed and blushed furiously, much to Cormoran’s amusement. It really was a shame, he thought, that she was so very shy.

The remainder of Nick’s visit passed all too quickly, days filled with swimming, surfing, long bike rides into the countryside with generous picnics courtesy of Joan, and frequently, Lucy, who after the success of her pavlova had insisted on baking nearly every afternoon when she got in from school. On the last night of his stay, they went to the Victory for dinner, courtesy of Mr and Mrs Herbert who had insisted on sending Nick with enough money to treat the family as a thank for having him stay. Cormoran and Ted were already in the hall, while Nick finalised the details of his train home with his parents on the phone in the kitchen.

“C’mon Lucy, we’re starving,” called Cormoran up the stairs, impatient. “How long does it take to change out of school uniform?!”

“Leave your sister alone,” reprimanded Ted, lightly, then adding sotto voce, “She’s at ‘that age’ you know…you should’ve seen your mother when she was fourteen…”

Ted’s voice tailed off as Lucy began her descent of the stairs, drawing Cormoran’s attention to the sight of his little sister who, it appeared, had had an extreme makeover and most certainly did not look fourteen.

Her hair, which she’d insisted Joan put into tight plaits after washing it the night before, lay in blonde waves around her shoulders, and her usual after school uniform of jeans and a t-shirt had been replaced with a slouchy turquoise top which left one shoulder exposed and last year’s denim skirt, now several inches shorter than it had been back then. Her dark blue eyes were framed with mascara and she was wearing shimmering pale pink lipstick.

“Holy crap!”

“Cormoran, watch your language…” Joan followed his gaze. “Lucy what in God’s name are you wearing? We’re only going down the pub and as for that skirt…”

“Joanie,” Ted steered her back down the hallway, “I know what you’re thinking, but remember what we said about picking our battles…”

“Yes, but…”

“I think our Lucy is trying to impress someone,” he winked, “And it’s not that bad, don’t embarrass her, eh?”

“She’s doing a good enough job without our bloody help,” muttered Cormoran, who had heard the tail end of the conversation, and finally realised exactly what had been going on with his sister all week. Could there be anything more mortifying that your little sister having a crush on your best mate? He doubted it and tried very hard to suppress the mammoth surge of irritation he felt rising as Nick emerged from the kitchen, oblivious to the goings on of the previous five minutes.

“All done,” he announced. “Wow, Lucy you look very…erm…grown up…”

“Thanks Nick,” she simpered, smugly.

Cormoran merely rolled his eyes, thanked God that Nick was leaving in the morning, and wished, not for the first time that week, that Ilsa was back from her holiday.


	14. This Is Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran and his friends get their GCSE results.

Cormoran had been disappointed to discover the following day that Ilsa was in fact, away for a fortnight, not the week he had assumed. A postcard arrived on the Monday morning with some hastily scrawled lines about the weather (glorious), food (delicious) and Holly’s flirtations with various waiters and lifeguards (hilarious). Ilsa didn’t mention whether she was enjoying any flirtations of her own and signed off with a traditional ‘wish you were here’, which made him smile.

She arrived back late the following Sunday and was at work for lunchtime the next day. They managed a quick chat over the garden fence later in the week, but it wasn’t until the Friday evening, when the local teenagers gathered for another party on the beach that they had the opportunity for a proper catch up. Cormoran had hoped that two weeks apart and the preceding conversation would have dissipated any tension between them, and as they sat with their friends, they both relaxed and chatted easily. Cormoran filled her in on Nick’s visit, and Ilsa regaled everyone with stories about her time in Greece and her sister’s holiday romance, before Penny dragged her off for further discussion of the merits of Greek boys versus English ones, and to fill her in on the gossip regarding Gwen and Sean’s split shortly after she’d gone away, and the epic party Gwen had thrown the night before Ilsa had arrived back.

Cormoran watched them nervously as they headed off further up the beach, drinks in hand.

“Made up your mind whether you fancy her yet, Diddy?”

Cormoran rolled his eyes at Dave.

“I’ve told you, it’s not like that with me and Ilsa.”

“So how come you’d not mentioned Gwen’s party to her?”

Cormoran took a long drag on the last of his cigarette and dropped it into his empty beer can with a satisfying hiss.

“Haven’t seen much of her since she got back.”

“Nothing to do with not wanting her to find out about…”

“Shut up, Dave. I’ve already told you nothing happened there either.”

“You’ll be telling me you’re taking holy orders next.”

Cormoran ignored him and opened another beer.

By the time he and Ilsa walked home that evening the atmosphere between them was charged. Ilsa wanted to ask him about what Penny had told her of the events at Gwen’s party. Cormoran wanted to ask Ilsa if, like Holly, she had enjoyed some kind of holiday romance. Both, however, were too worried that their queries might be misinterpreted, and the ghost of the kiss that had occurred moments before the last time they had completed the walk up the hill, hung over them still. They wished one another goodnight and headed up their neighbouring pathways. Just before she reached her front door, Ilsa heard Cormoran call her name.  
  
“Yes?” she replied.  
  
“I’m glad you’re back.”  
  
She smiled as she closed the door behind her.

  
* * *

  
The following six weeks passed all too quickly, although Cormoran occasionally found the time dragging a little, with his friends at work or on family holidays for much of the time. He’d join Dave at Fistral Beach from time to time, swimming, body boarding and laying in the sun with a book, catching up with his friend when he was on his break and enjoying the crowds of girls making the most of the hot summer weather. He spent time with Ted in the garden and at the lifeboat station, read extensively and made use of the punchbag in the garage to continue working on his boxing skills.  
  
Ilsa settled quickly back into her job at the hotel and with the advent of the summer holidays was offered even more shifts which she accepted enthusiastically. The oldest of the group, she was due to turn seventeen in September and keen to save up as much as possible towards driving lessons. As a result, she and Cormoran only really saw one another at group gatherings.  
  
On the fifteenth of August, Cormoran woke early, took his toast and tea out into the garden and tried to enjoy having the house to himself whilst listening out for the letterbox. It was results day, and he’d managed to arrange to have his posted out to him at Ted and Joan’s. He was hoping to do four, rather than the usual three A-levels, and needed exceptional results if he was to be allowed to take an extra subject. He knew he’d done his best, despite frequently tricky circumstances at home, but hadn’t given any serious thought as to what he would do if he didn’t get the grades he needed. Retakes would mean another year with Leda, and it seemed increasingly likely, Whittaker, before he could leave for university. But he would be unlikely to get a place at Oxford with only three A-levels. The choice of uni hadn’t really mattered to him, until his English teacher, Mr Simpson had taken him under his wing and encouraged him to believe it was a possibility. Simpson was an Oxford graduate, and his stories of his time there were compelling. Combined with Uncle Ted’s motto, ‘do the job and do it well’, Cormoran had been determined to make it to the prestigious university, regardless of the odds apparently stacked  
against him.  
  
Eventually, anxiety got the better of him, and he went upstairs to shower and get dressed, and then headed for the beach for a smoke, before returning to call for Ilsa and walk with her to meet their friends at St Mawes High School. On his return, his family were gathered around the kitchen table, a brown envelope with his name on sitting ostentatiously in the centre.  
  
“It’s here,” said Joan.  
  
Cormoran nodded and reached hesitantly for the envelope. He really didn’t want to open it in front of an audience. Ted sensed his reluctance and suggested he take it outside to read, silencing Lucy and Joan’s objections with a single raised eyebrow.  
  
Ilsa watched from behind the net curtain as her friend and neighbour made his way down to the vegetable patch at the end of the garden, sat down on one of the old wooden sleepers that bordered it, stretched out his legs and carefully tore open the envelope. She didn’t worry that he might look up and see her watching him, she could tell that he was far too engrossed in the moment to give her a thought. His head was bowed over the piece of paper so she couldn’t see his expression and in those few seconds she forgot all thoughts of her own impending results. She knew how hard he had worked, how much this meant to him, and what the implications were if he didn’t get the grades he needed. It was only when he got to his feet that she could he was beaming, that she realised she’d been holding her breath. Impulsively she lifted the net curtain and banged on the window. He looked up immediately at Ilsa, giving him a tentative thumbs up, and nodded back, before heading back into the kitchen and his impatient family.  
Cormoran was at Ilsa’s door an hour later, still grinning from ear to ear as she threw her arms around him and shrieked her congratulations in his ear.  
  
“So, c’mon then, what did you actually get?”  
  
“Only B’s in Science and IT…straight A’s for the other eight subjects.”  
  
“Which were?”  
  
“English Language and Lit, Maths, French, History, Business Studies, PE and Design Tech.”  
  
“Well, keep your fingers crossed for me. If I get results like that, I’ll be bloody thrilled.”  
  
Ilsa, in fact, achieved straight A’s across the board. The two of them spent most of the day at the beach, respectively celebrating and in a few cases, commiserating with their  
friends, before enjoying a meal at the Victory with their families to celebrate their successes that evening.


	15. 3AM Eternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sleepless night in St Mawes leads to some interesting developments and an unexpected proposal.

It was only when Cormoran turned in that night that he had a chance to really think about what came next. Leda had called that evening to find out how he’d done and congratulate him. She had sobbed down the phone with pride and he’d felt a swell of affection for his mother that he hadn’t experienced since her announcement that she was going on tour with Whittaker. It had been short lived however, when she’d explained that the Deathcult tour had been extended and that she wouldn’t be back for the start of term.

He fell into a fitful sleep, his brain full of a combination of excitement and trepidation, only to wake in the early hours overly hot, wired and unable to get back to sleep. The atmosphere was close and almost unbearably humid, and after a while, he gave up, threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed his cigarettes and matches from the inner pocket of his leather jacket and made his way as quietly as he could downstairs and out into the garden.

He had just lit up when he heard a hushed voice from the other side of the fence.

“Corm? Is that you?”

“Ilsa? What are doing out here?”

Her eyes and the top of her head appeared over the fence.

“Couldn’t sleep. I guess you’re the same.”

“Yup,” he got to his feet and passed her his cigarette, grinning through the dark. “Here, hold this, I’m coming over.”

He flung himself easily over the six-foot wooden fence panel and dropped quietly into Mrs Trennery’s prized flower bed, swearing under his breath at the rose thorns catching his bare legs as he landed. Ilsa, in nightshirt, leggings and flip flops, suppressed a giggle and handed him his cigarette as they headed over to the bench in front of the little blue painted summerhouse at the end of the garden.

“You alright?” he said, dropping down next to her.

“I suppose…it just all seems a bit real now. I don’t think I’d realised how much things are going to change until today.”

Cormoran tilted his head to one side and looked at her. “It’s not going to change that much…same little village, same people. It’s not like we’re all heading off to uni yet.”

Ilsa sighed. “I know but my closest friends have all chosen such different paths. Penny’s doing her hairdressing apprenticeship, so not only will she not be at sixth form, she won’t even be around much at the weekend. Dave’s off to the technical college in Truro. Sean, bless him, was never really quite ‘one of the gang’ and as for Gwen…” she tailed off with a huff.

Cormoran frowned. “What do you mean, ‘as for Gwen’…”

Ilsa eyed him cautiously. “If I tell you, you have to keep it quiet. She’s only told me and Penny and she’s sworn us to secrecy until she decides what she’s going to do…she’s pregnant.”

“Fuck!” Cormoran’s voice was louder than he’d intended and they both cowered back into the shadow of the summerhouse for a minute, half expecting a window or door to open and one of Ilsa’s parents to appear. The few moments of quiet gave Cormoran the chance to thank his lucky stars that despite what Dave had suspected, he had declined Gwen’s advances at her party whilst Ilsa was on holiday.

“Is it Seans?”

“No. Someone she got together with at that party she had the day before I came back from Greece,” she saw Cormoran flush, even though the garden was only dimly lit by solar fairylights. “Don’t worry,” she smiled, giving his knee a gentle, reassuring squeeze, that much to his discomfiture sent goosebumps racing up his thigh. “I know that nothing happened between you two, despite Dave’s constant double entendres.”

“How did you know _anything_ …” he looked at her, horrified.

“We’re girls, we talk. She was worried you’d tell me she’d tried it on, and I’d be all overprotective and cross with her for taking advantage. I know you weren’t in a great place because of the situation with Leda back then.”

“No…no, I wasn’t,” he agreed.

But fuck, what else had Gwen told Ilsa? He had had been drinking whisky, which Dave had pilfered from his parents drinks cabinet that night, and although he’d not told her about the kiss or mentioned Ilsa by name, he had woken the following morning with a churning sensation in his stomach that had nothing to do with alcohol consumption, and a vague recollection of telling her more than he probably should have. A distant roll of thunder echoed somewhere over the Atlantic, and a sudden breeze swept through the garden.

“She said you were very polite about brushing her off. You told her you were quite confused about things of that nature and had decided to swear off girls for a bit. She was very disappointed…” Ilsa smirked, “…she’s been wondering ever since if you might be gay.”

Cormoran looked at her with an expression of amused disbelief.

“Seriously?”

“Yup. She’s very confident in her abilities with the opposite sex is Gwen. I don’t think she could quite wrap her head around the fact that you might turn her down for any other reason.”

“Right.”

“I nearly mentioned that I had very good reason to believe you were definitely not gay but thought better of it in the nick of time,” she chuckled, then quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway, what brings you out here at three o’clock in the morning?”

“Same as you really. Mum called this evening. Deathcult have extended their tour so she won’t be back until mid-September at the earliest. Fuck knows who’s booking that idiot and his cronies.”

“You could transfer here?” replied Ilsa hopefully.

“That’s what Ted and Joan said, but I’m not leaving mum alone with Whittaker. I imagine most of what he comes out with is bullshit and posturing, but there’s still something about him, something manipulative and sinister. I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust mum’s judgement when she’s around him.”

“But she’s been on tour with him for weeks and she’s okay, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but they’ve got the rest of the band with them twenty-four/seven, and he’s lapping up the attention from adoring, stupid teenage girls when he’s performing. When he’s back at the flat without all the attention and nothing to do all day but take drugs and be a prick…I can’t risk it.”

A thunderclap rumbled overhead, almost loud enough to shake the garden, and the heavens opened.

“Quick, in here,” Ilsa grabbed Cormoran’s hand and tugged him up the steps behind them and into the summer house, which was almost pitch black now that the storm clouds had scudded across the moon. “Where are your matches?”

He passed them over and she lit a large candle in a storm lantern and placed it on a little table next to the bamboo sofa with it’s blue and yellow striped cushions.

“So, you’ve made your mind up about going back to London?” Ilsa continued. “At least you’ve got a couple more weeks here though.”

Cormoran let out a loud sigh.

“I don’t think so Ils. Lucy’s dad paid the rent on the flat upfront, but only until the end of September. Mum’s not got the landlord’s details on her so I’m going to have to go back and make sure that’s all sorted out somehow before I start college. I’ve not told Ted and Joan yet, but I’m probably going to head back early next week.”

“Oh.” Ilsa didn’t look at him, but he could sense that she was upset.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad. We’ve got a few days yet and you know I write a good letter,” he teased.

“I know,” she sniffed, wiping away an errant tear that had managed to escape, “I’ll just miss you.” She paused. “I know we’ve not seen that much of each other with my job, and things have been a bit…well, you know, at times but I just like knowing you’re next door.”

He put an arm around her and pulled her close, so her head rested on his shoulder. She smelt of fresh rain and a little of warmth and sleep. He tipped her face up to look at him, intending to tell her that he’d always be her friend, always be there for her, whether he was living in St Mawes, London or Timbuktu. But suddenly, his head was full of images of the night of the beach party, and this time he knew it was him that made the first move. There was a moment’s hesitation on Ilsa’s part, and then she was kissing him back, and it was just as good last time, better, even. He pulled her closer, knowing this would have to end but wanting to prolong it for as long as possible, and to his surprise she levered herself upright and straddled him. He was suddenly, painfully aware of how aroused he was rapidly becoming and the fact that Ilsa must have noticed. He pushed her gently back, panting and flustered, trying to squirm back into the sofa cushions.

“Ilsa…stop…this is…it’s…”

“Nowhere near as weird as it probably should be?” She was grinning down at him, slightly breathless but otherwise completely composed.

“Well, no, but…Ilsa we can’t. We’re friends and I don’t want to mess that up by getting carried away and…I’m going back to London in a few days. I can’t be your boyfriend.”

Ilsa swung herself back into position beside him and took a deep breath. “At what point exactly, did I suggest I wanted you to be my boyfriend?”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. What, exactly, was his best friend, sweet, girl-next-door, Ilsa, suggesting? A hook up? Surely not!

“Erm…you didn’t?” he stammered, nervously. His surprise at Ilsa’s words was doing nothing to diminish his burgeoning erection and he was profoundly grateful to be wearing baggy board shorts, rather than the considerably closer fitting jeans he’s nearly reached for in the darkness of his bedroom.

“Look, Corm, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Ever since the last time we ‘overstepped’, to be honest. So many of my friends have done it now, and for nearly every one of them it’s been crap and they’ve regretted it. The romantic ones have ended up getting their hearts broken by having all kinds of unrealistic expectations of the lads they were with, and the rest have settled for a drunken fumble under a pile of coats at a party.”

He said nothing, but was looking at her curiously, so she continued.

“I don’t imagine for one minute that the earth will move the first time I have sex, or that the person it’s with will be ‘the one’, but I don’t want to look back and regret it. I want my first time to be with someone I genuinely like and trust...like you...”

Cormoran pondered Ilsa’s words through a haze of shock and arousal. He could tell that she had prepared that speech to some degree. He, on the other hand, hadn’t given a great deal of consideration to what his first time might be like, beyond the physical side of things. Now he thought about it, she had a valid point, and weren’t those reasons very similar to the ones that were in the back of his mind when he had turned Lisa down before he’d left for St Mawes, and shrugged off Gwen’s advances a few weeks previously? He nodded slowly, still not entirely sure he was understanding her correctly and therefore not trusting himself to actually speak. He wished he could have another cigarette, but the thunderstorm was still raging outside, and he didn’t dare light up in the summerhouse.

“…so, what do you think? I know it seems a bit prosaic, but I think it could work, with us…if you wanted to…” She was looking at him from beneath her eyelashes, nervously biting her lip as she awaited his response. "Shit...I thought I'd have a bit more time to work up to asking you, but if you're leaving next week..."

Cormoran realised that all the doubts he'd felt when the subject of sex had cropped up with Lisa or Gwen, were markedly absent. The anxiety about how it might go, and about any potential consequences which had made him so reluctant to take things any further with either of then did not apply to his relationship with Ilsa. They knew each other well, trusted one another implicitly and were on the same page about what was – potentially - happening. And then there was the attraction between them. He had a feeling that on both sides it was curiosity more than anything, but his rationalisation had done little stop him thinking about her over the course of the holidays. He’d tried not to, but his subconscious had proved traitorous on numerous occasions. There had been several more pre-dawn excursions to the washing machine.

“Corm…?”

She was fidgeting now, and he realised his delay in replying was worrying her.

“I’m sorry Ils, I just really didn’t see any of that coming, but…” he looked at her, “Yeah…I think it could work. Not here though, not like this.”

She thought for a moment. “I have ridiculous split shift tomorrow, but Saturday evening? Mum and Dad are taking to Holly to Cardiff for the weekend to sort out some uni stuff and they’re staying overnight with friends. Come round for dinner and…”

“…and let’s see what happens.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “If you change your mind...”

“I know,” she whispered softly, “But I don’t think I will.”


	16. Can't Stop This Thing We Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran does his homework. Ted has his suspicions.

Cormoran awoke the following morning fairly convinced that he had dreamt the events of the previous night. It was only when he noticed the scratches on his calves from Mrs Trennery’s rose bushes that he actually believed the conversation he’d had with Ilsa had taken place.

He lay in bed for some time, excited, nervous, aroused, confused…until he managed to pull himself together sufficiently to face his family in the kitchen.

On seeing Uncle Ted, he decided it would be best to tackle the issue of his returning home sooner rather than later, and after a little debate, they agreed that he would return to London the following Tuesday, as Ted had a couple of days off and would be able to drive him back and help him sort out anything that needed it. Joan was keen to go with them, but Lucy, despite her disappointment that Cormoran was leaving so soon, stated that she would ‘rather stay in St Mawes forever than set foot back in that place’, so she agreed to stay with her clearly upset niece. Privately Cormoran thought it was very much for the best that neither of them came. With Whittaker having been there alone for a couple of days prior to chasing Leda down to Cornwall, he couldn’t imagine the state he might have left the flat in.

That decided, he set about beginning to pack, as much to keep his mind off plans for the following evening as anything else. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, obviously, but he kept remembering Ilsa’s words, “…I don’t expect the earth to move…” and it was making him nervous. He knew from his own friends that first times were often more awkward and embarrassing than pleasurable (they all confided in him easily, assuming – wrongly – that he was streets ahead of them in experience), but still, he hoped Ilsa wouldn’t think it…he…was that rubbish.

Cormoran was massively relieved when Joan and Lucy headed out to the supermarket later that afternoon. He had spent much of the period post-lunch lying on his bed, trying to remember everything he had ever read about sex. From Leda’s collection of feminist erotica by the likes of Anais Nin (unhelpful) and Nancy Friday (much more interesting!) to the few illicit forays into the magazine collection of Dave Polworth’s older brother. Dave had laughed at him for being more interested in the reader’s stories in Forum than the pictures in Mayfair, but he had argued that there was only so much you could learn from looking alone.

Even Auntie Joan had an ancient, battered copy of a book called ‘Everywoman’, the arty blue and white cover of which belied its contents, which featured detailed descriptions of different sexual positions, complete with black and white sketches. He’d been slightly shocked to discover it on his aunt’s bookshelf, the detailed lists of dates and temperatures written in her small, neat handwriting having long since been removed and destroyed, not that they would have made sense to a teenage boy in any case. He wondered if he dared go and have a sneaky peek at it while Joan and Lucy were out, and crept across the landing, despite being in an empty house, making a mental note of exactly the spot the book was in before removing it from the shelf and taking it back to his room.

As he returned past Lucy’s room, he remembered the novel she’d been given at Christmas, about a young couple in their first sexual relationship. Aunt Joan had been horrified when she’d realised how much detail the book went into, which of course had piqued Cormoran’s interest. He’d snuck a look at it one weekend when Lucy was staying at a friend’s overnight and thought it crap. What kind of muppet calls his cock Ralph, he’d wondered, utterly mystified.

By midnight on Friday, he felt that he’d done as much ‘homework’ as he could, and it appeared his body was in agreement, as the early hours of Saturday morning saw another quiet, careful trip to the washing machine. He was in the throes of measuring out washing powder when a rattle and bang made him jump, spilling the contents of the plastic scoop over the floor. He swore under his breath and paused, unmoving for a minute, silently praying that he wasn’t about to be discovered by his aunt or uncle, or, worse, Lucy, then realised that the noise had been the letterbox.

A folded piece of A4 lined paper with his name on was on the doormat, with his name on in familiar rounded, purple handwriting.

> _**Early start today – I saw your light on from the garden. I assume you’re still on for tonight? Let me know if anything’s changed, otherwise see you at 7. Ilsa xx** _

He folded the missive up and headed back upstairs to stash it away from prying eyes and get dressed. He’d never get back to sleep now.

* * *

The time passed excruciatingly slowly for a teenage boy with a surfeit of nervous energy. Having spent the couple of hours between waking up and the rest of the family materialising for breakfast in the garage practising his boxing, he took a shower before eating, only to realise that not only could he not sit still, he probably ought to venture out to purchase some condoms. Not for the first time he missed London, where he could have easily walked into any anonymous pharmacy to make the purchase with no chance of bumping into anyone he’d even met before, let alone knew well. In St Mawes, the local pharmacy still kept contraceptives behind the counter, and was run by the husband of one his former teachers.

“Just popping out on my bike for a bit,” he called to Joan, as he headed for the garage and his trusty turquoise Apollo mountain bike.

He arrived back two hours later, sweat soaked and flushed, supplies tucked carefully in his jeans pocket. He’d picked up a bunch of brightly coloured gerberas for Ilsa at a greengrocers he’d passed on the way home. He’d dithered for several minutes over whether or not to buy them, coming to the conclusion that regardless of anything else that may be on the cards that evening, she was cooking him dinner and it seemed the polite thing to do. The last thing he wanted though was any grief from Lucy, or to arouse the suspicions of his Aunt and Uncle, who had not batted an eyelid when he’d told them he was spending the evening next door. He popped them in a jam jar of water, hidden in a corner at the back of the garage, to be retrieved later, then went for another shower before falling asleep, book in hand, in the back garden.

Ilsa, who had been lying on her bed, working her way through the relevant sections in Holly’s collection of Cosmopolitan and Company magazines, noticed Cormoran sprawled on his sun lounger as she stood up to start getting ready for the evening ahead. She had seen him in just shorts more times than she could count over the course of the summer, but she’d never actually looked. She hadn’t dared for fear that he, or one of their friends would notice and say something. She leaned against the wall and allowed her eyes to wander over his tall, tanned frame, enjoying both the view and the sensation of butterflies in her stomach, until she heard Joan calling him and saw him start to stir, when she quickly ducked out of view and went back to her preparations.

* * *

If Joan and Ted had made no comment about Cormoran’s plans to spend the evening with Ilsa, they were somewhat more taken aback by his appearance when he popped into the kitchen to say goodbye before heading next door. Unbeknownst to him, Lucy had already passed comment on the amount of time he was taking to get ready, so when he emerged not in his usual jeans and t-shirt, but in stone coloured chinos, Timberlands and a deep blue polo shirt with his leather jacket over his arm, eyebrows were raised.

Joan regained her composure first. “You look very nice love.”

“Lot of effort for someone who’s supposed to be just a friend,” smirked Lucy under her breath.

“It’s polite to make an effort when someone asks you for dinner, whoever it is,” Joan admonished her sternly, as Cormoran glared at his sister. “You have a lovely time, Corm.”

“I...erm, I will,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

“Don’t think you really need a jacket to go next door,” observed Ted astutely, looking his flustered nephew straight in the eye. Cormoran took a deep breath as he held his gaze.

“We’ll probably sit out in the garden later…don’t suppose any of Ilsa’s cardis will fit me if the temperature drops.”

“Right you are,” nodded Ted, “Always best to be prepared.”

Cormoran closed the door and went into the garage to get Ilsa’s flowers, shaking slightly as he did so. Yet again one of the adults in his life seemed to have psychic abilities at the worst possible moment. Thank goodness he had hidden them, he thought, congratulating himself on his cleverness, completely unaware of Ted watching him from the front room window.


	17. Love, Thy Will Be Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corm and Ilsa's friendship takes a distinctly non-platonic turn

Ilsa smiled at the sight of Cormoran on the doorstep, flowers in hand.

“You really didn’t have to,” she smiled, accepting the small bouquet, “They’re lovely though. Come in and let’s have a drink.”  
Cormoran was pleased he’d made a little more effort than usual with his appearance when Ilsa had opened the door, as she’d obviously had the same idea. Her make-up was slightly heavier than usual and her hair was loose, falling to her shoulders in soft, pale golden waves. She was wearing a pale blue dress he didn’t recall seeing before, calf-length and slightly fitted with buttons that ran all the way down the front of the dress. The thought that he may well be undoing those buttons in an hour or two sent a rush of sensation to his groin which he fought to keep under control, no easy task when the thin straps on her shoulders strongly hinted at an absence of bra beneath the soft cotton.

He followed Ilsa through to the kitchen where the table was set neatly for two. She had wondered about candles but decided it would be overkill under the circumstances, so the room was lit by a small lamp. The smell of something delicious emanated from the oven.

“You’ve been busy,” said Cormoran, as he she passed him a bottle of beer and poured herself a glass of wine. Holly had been more than happy to help smuggle in some contraband when Ilsa had explained that she was cooking a farewell dinner that evening. Ilsa had ignored the clearly questioning look that her sister had given her as she’d handed the bottles over.

“Not really, to be honest,” she grinned, “I roped in the chef at work to help me out. It’s his special fish pie, and lemon mousse with homemade gingersnaps for pudding…I did make the biscuits.”

Cormoran relaxed a little with the knowledge that Ilsa herself hadn’t gone to too much trouble. If the evening went horribly wrong at least he wouldn’t feel quite so guilty,

The slightly tense atmosphere between them dissipated over the course of dinner, helped along by a little alcohol, although Cormoran noticed that Ilsa was taking it very slowly and tried to pace himself to match. In fact, Holly had bought cava rather than the Lambrusco which was what Ilsa would normally have opted for when trying to be sophisticated. It was much sharper and she wasn’t that keen on the taste, but it did seem to be having the desired effect, she thought, as she cleared their plates.

“So…” she said, her back to him as she began to tidy the kitchen worktop, “What do you fancy doing? We can go and find a video, or…”

She turned around, suddenly aware that he was no longer at the table, but standing behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt her heart rate increase in a matter of moments. He took the tea towel and placed it on the side, then took her hand.

“What do you want, Ilsa?” he asked softly. “Because if it’s a video marathon I am perfectly happy with that, but if it’s not…” he paused momentarily, hoping that he was phrasing his speech the right way, “…if it’s not and you still wanted to do what you talked about the other night then, I honestly don’t think watching a hundred videos is going to make either of us any less nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” her expression was incredulous.

“’Course I am. I don’t really know what I’m doing any more than you do, and I know you said you weren’t expecting…well…much,” he blushed furiously, “…but I’m kind of hoping that I can at least…that you enjoy it a bit…if you still want to, that is.”

Ilsa’s heart was pounding so hard now she was convinced he could probably hear it. He still had her hand in his and she hoped it wasn’t clammy. This close he smelt of fresh laundry, sea salt and a hint of woody, spicy shower gel, and she breathed him in an completely futile attempt to calm herself before replying.

“Yeah, I do still want to,” she murmured, closing the gap between them and sliding one arm around his waist and the other up to rest on his shoulder. The hair at the nape of his neck tickled her fingers as she pulled his head down to hers and pressed her mouth against his, once, twice and then flicked her tongue across his lips, which parted eagerly to allow her to explore. His tongue slid slowly against hers, the taste of ginger a warm, sweet contrast to the lingering cold acidic flavour of cheap cava. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer, no longer worried as he had been before about her discovering how aroused he was rapidly becoming, and she gasped as she felt him, half-hard against her stomach, and pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed.

“Okay?” he whispered, the hoarse tremor in his voice betraying his own feelings.

“Yeah…” she slipped her hand into his, and pulled him toward the stairs “C’mon…”

“Just let me grab my jacket…supplies…” he grinned awkwardly.

“I’ve got some upstairs,” Ilsa replied, already moving.

“Really?”

“Loos at work, there are vending machines…”

“Blimey I wish I’d thought of that. I did a twelve-mile round trip on my bike to find a chemist where I wouldn’t bump into anyone we know.”

Ilsa laughed. “No wonder you spent all afternoon asleep in the garden.” The words came out before she’d thought. Oh God, she cringed, now he’d know she’d been watching him.

“Spying on me, were you?” he gave her a cheeky smile as they entered her bedroom, a rush of pride hitting him at the thought. Cormoran knew he was in good shape and could tell by the way Ilsa was blushing that she’d thought the same.

“A bit,” she admitted, crossing the room to draw the curtains and turn on the portable CD player on the chest of drawers in the corner. The atmospheric sound of Enigma filled the room as Ilsa moved to sit on her bed and flick the switch on a silver glittery lava lamp on her bedside table.

Cormoran stood watching her, looking around the familiar room as if he’d never seen it before, the same pale pink walls, the chunky pine furniture she’d had since they were in primary school, and the bed a white metal framed single, it’s pastel coloured duvet cover matching the curtains. He noticed as his eyes traversed the room that the collection of family photographs that usually surrounded the CD player had been tidied away.

Ilsa regarded him with mild amusement. In almost eleven years of knowing Cormoran Strike, she had never seen him look quite so unsure of himself.

“We’re not going to get very far with you standing in the doorway,” she teased, then suddenly equally uncertain, “Unless you’ve changed your mind, which is…”

“God no,” he took two strides across the room and joined her on the bed, “No I haven’t, if that’s still what you want too?”

She nodded, and in half a moment they were kissing again. Before long they’d toppled back on the bed and stretched out next to one another, tentative hands stroking and exploring. Cormoran traced the curve of her earlobe experimentally with his tongue, enjoying her reaction – half ticklish, half aroused. His polo shirt had come untucked and he let out a small involuntary moan as Ilsa’s roving fingers made contact with the bare skin of his back, and he realised that his own hand was resting on her ribcage and wondered if he dare slide it just that little bit higher. He was suddenly desperate to know whether he was correct in his deduction that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Hesitantly he stroked one fingertip beneath the curve of her breast, and she moved beneath him, encouraging him to continue, so he did, gently cupping her, feeling her nipple, hard against his palm. His cock twitched at the sensation and Ilsa felt him against her and couldn’t suppress a giggle, which turned quickly into a gasp of pleasure as he circled his thumb more firmly over the stiff peak.

“Okay?” he asked, his smile laced with just a hint of smugness as he repeated the action on her other breast.

She nodded slowly, eyes meeting his then flicking briefly to the buttons of her dress and back again. His mouth was suddenly dry, and he licked his lips and swallowed hard.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but you can lose this first,” she grinned, tugging at the hem of his polo shirt, “I’m not going to be the only one half dressed.”

Cormoran was only too happy to oblige, kneeling up and stripping the shirt over his head to reveal well defined shoulders and upper arms, the beginnings of six pack just visible across his tanned abdomen, and an already generous scattering of dark chest hair that tapered into a thin line as it disappeared below his waistband. Now that he was kneeling upright, the outline of his erection was clearly visible in the lamp light, and Ilsa felt a swirl of nerves and excitement in the pit of her stomach, which only increased as he lay down beside her and began slowly, deftly undoing the buttons at the front of her dress.

He was quietly thrilled to discover he had been correct about the lack of bra. Not only was it sexy as hell, he was relieved not to have to tackle - and potentially fumble - the undoing of tricky fastenings, one-handed behind her back.

His lips moved slowly across from her shoulder to her breast, conscious as he was of not rushing her, and having no desire himself to do anything other than savour every moment of the experience. Carefully cataloguing the changing sounds of her breathing, faster, shallower, he tentatively licked one hard peak, only to be rewarded with a soft whimper. 

He moaned slightly in response, pressing his hips into the mattress as his cock hardened even further. He wanted this to be good for Ilsa as well as himself, but he hadn’t - couldn’t - have begun to imagine how much of a turn on pleasuring her would be. His hand slid to her other breast, stroking and teasing until she was until she was arching into his touch, her fingers twining into his dark curls as he sucked gently on her. He gave a sigh of contentment as her other hand pulled him closer, sliding across his heated skin.

He kissed his way up her throat, back to her mouth, covering her body with his, relishing the sensation of skin on skin, her tongue sliding between his lips again. He dragged the straps of her dress down her arms, then Ilsa reached lower, unfastened the last few buttons and wriggled out of the dress, kicking it to the floor and revealing simple, lace trimmed white knickers.

Cormoran ached to touch her, to discover if she was as turned on as he was, but before he had the chance to make a tentative move or a whispered suggestion, he suddenly became aware of her hands at his belt. She heard his sharp intake of breath and her fingers stopped moving, momentarily.

“Is this okay?” she asked, smiling shyly up at him.

“God…yes…” he breathed hoarsely, so dizzy with arousal that he could barely get the words out. He sent a silent prayer to whatever deity might be looking down at that moment, that he wouldn’t lose control the moment she touched him, and tried to remember the quadratic equations he’d had to learn for his maths exam in an attempt to distract himself from the sensations pouring through every inch of his body.

He helped her shove the chinos out of the way and kicked them off as he fell backwards onto her pillows. She reached for him in the soft light of the lava lamp, a groan escaping his mouth as her fingers ghosted over his length beneath his crisp cotton boxers. She slid her fingers inside and caressed him hesitantly, her breath shaky at the feel of him, hot and heavy in her hand. Gwen’s comment when they’d been getting ready for prom had certainly been accurate.

It was, he thought, like some kind of incredible torture, as she stroked and explored. For several seconds he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of her fingers moving soft and cool against him, then all at once he was on the brink and he pulled her hand away abruptly.

“Sorry,” she whispered, “Did I do something…”

He shook his head and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“No…no…just…too good,” he smiled weakly, wishing he had a little more self-control.

“Oh…oh!” she nodded, momentarily confused before realising what he meant and feeling somewhat smug that she was doing it right.

He pulled her close. “Just give me a minute, yeah?” He kept her hand in his, pulling her down to lie next to him. 

After a minute or two they turned at the same time to look at one another, and both laughed.

“This is a bit weird isn’t it?” Cormoran said softly.

“Yes, but not…”

“Not in a bad way, no…” he paused, “I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

“Me too.”

He leaned closer and kissed her gently, his hand coming up to stroke her earlobe and down her neck. The heat that had been on embers between throughout the summer ignited once more, and she kissed him back as he rolled over and ground his hips against her, moaning in surprise as she slid a hand down to his backside and he felt her nails digging into his skin slightly.

His hand coasted over her breast, along the curve of her waist and hip, coming to rest lightly against the edge of her underwear. He traced the lace edging with a fingertip, before dragging his mouth away from hers to whisper in her ear, “Can I..?

“Please…” she murmured, somewhere in the back of her brain slightly shocked as how desperate she sounded, how much she wanted him to touch her.

She helped him remove her underwear and tried to control her breathing as his hand slid hesitantly between her legs and his fingers slid across her core.

“Jesus Christ,” Cormoran exclaimed in a hoarse whisper as he discovered how wet she was. He was uncomfortably hard again, terrified once more that he might come before they reached the crucial moment. He made a sterling effort to control his breathing and remember what he’d read about foreplay the previous afternoon, fingers stroking and sliding, as he mentally noted her responses and altered his movements and pressure accordingly.

They’d both avoided eye contact at the most intimate moments they had shared so far, but he couldn’t resist looking at her as she writhed, breathless, beneath his touch. He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth again and suddenly she let out an unintelligible cry and was shuddering against him. He paused for a moment and was stunned as she covered her hand with his own and encouraged him to keep going until he felt her entire body soften beneath him and her breathing began to slow.

She opened her eyes languorously and looked up to find Cormoran gazing down at her, awestruck.

“Wow…” she murmured, “Where did you learn that?”

“You know me,” he mumbled, “I like to do my research.” He felt his cheeks flush and hoped fervently that she would not ask him exactly what his research had entailed. He didn’t imaging his forays into Dave’s brother’s porn stash would go down particularly well. Instead she chuckled softly, then rolled away momentarily and rummaged in her bedside drawer, turning back to him with a small, foil packet in her hand.

“You’ll have no trouble with this then,” she whispered. He looked at her as he took the condom, her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were sparkling and he felt a surge of pride that he’d been the cause.

“Really? You’re sure?”  
“Of course I am.”

“Okay then,” he grinned, but he was shaking as he removed his boxers, fumbling as he carefully tore open the foil packet. It took every ounce of his remaining focus to roll the condom securely into place, before positioning himself carefully above her, his eyes tightly shut, his lip between his teeth and he felt her hand around him, guiding him to her entrance.

He wanted this so much, yet at the same time he hardly dared move, anxiety that he might lose control immediately, or worse, inadvertently hurt her coiling alongside fierce arousal in the pit of his stomach. Then he felt her hips tilt up to him, her hands on his backside, gently encouraging and knew this was it. He pushed gingerly into her, his head spinning at the sensation of heat and tightness against the tip of his cock. He paused for a moment, then moved again, this time registering a sharp intake of breath as Ilsa winced in pain.

“Shit, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, relaxing again, “It’s bound to happen. I don’t want to stop, just…go slow.”

So, he did, moving with painstaking care until he was completely surrounded by her.

“God, that feels incredible,” his voice in the curve of her shoulder was deeper and rougher than Ilsa could ever recall hearing it before.

“Mmmm,” she didn’t know what else to say, so she simply moved against him, and he responded instinctively until soon they were rocking slowly against one another, pleasure building inexorably and in Cormoran’s case far too quickly for his liking. He attempted to slow down a moment too late and came with an anguished groan.

After a long minute, he withdrew, taking care to keep the condom in place, dealt with it as swiftly as possible, and turned towards Ilsa, unable to meet her eye.

“Sorry.” His voice was barely audible, “I did try to hold on for you…” he was blushing furiously.

“Cormoran,” her voice was firm and slightly amused as she grabbed his chin and turned his face to hers, forcing him to make eye contact, “That was a hundred times better than I would ever have imagined,” she saw his sceptical face and continued, “…honestly. And besides, twice in one evening for a first time would just be greedy.”

He laughed then, and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head.

“Speaking of greedy,” he said into her hair, “Are there any more of those ginger biscuits? I seem to have worked up an appetite.”

“No change there then,” replied Ilsa, rolling her eyes as she pulled her knickers back on and shrugged on her dressing gown. “Get dressed, I’ll go and put the kettle on.”


	18. From A Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer is over, Cormoran heads back to London and life moves on...

Cormoran’s remaining few days in St Mawes passed happily and uneventfully. A final boat trip out with Uncle Ted on Sunday, dinner at The Victory on Monday evening joined by Ilsa and her family, and Dave and Penny.

They were up early on Tuesday morning, packing the car against a backdrop of a fussing aunt Joan and tearful Lucy.

“I’ll try to get back during half term,” Cormoran promised her, as he pulled her into a bear hug. She drove him mad, like all younger sisters, but it hurt him to leave her there so upset. He knew it was as much worry for Leda as the fact that she would miss him, and he swallowed a lump in his own throat before letting her go. It wouldn’t help if Lucy realised he was just as concerned for their mother as she was.

He took a long, last look down the hill to where the sun had just barely risen over the sea and turned back towards the car.

“Corm!”

Ilsa was hurtling out of her front door in pyjamas and flip flops, hair all over the place, glasses just about staying on her nose, and he was reminded for a moment of her greeting at the station almost three months previously as she threw her arms around him.

“I thought you were working an early shift this morning?”

They’d said their goodbyes in a quiet corner at the Victory the previous night, knowing that she wouldn’t be there to see him off as she had always done when he returned to London.

“Called a friend at work when we got home and asked them to swap shifts,” she replied, slightly breathless, “…and then I overslept.”

She grinned at him ruefully and he laughed.

“I’m glad you did – swap shifts I mean, not the oversleeping.”

“Couldn’t let my best mate head off without saying goodbye.”

Her eyes were twinkling as she looked at up at him, an unspoken acknowledgement that the events of Saturday night had done nothing to impair or change their longstanding friendship. Cormoran smiled back and bent to kiss her cheek.

“It’s been a great summer,” he said, softly, so the rest of him family couldn’t hear him.

“Yep,” she squeezed his hand. “Off you go, don’t keep Ted waiting.” The truth was she was beginning to feel inexplicably emotional and didn’t want him to notice the tears that were prickling behind her eyes.

He climbed into the front seat of Ted’s Ford Escort and fastened his seatbelt, before turning back to see Ilsa now standing with Joan, one arm around a tear-stained Lucy.

“Don’t forget to write,” she called, watching the car pull away from the kerb.

“I won’t,” he shouted back, as they disappeared around the corner.

* * *

> _7th September 1991_
> 
> _Dear Corm,_
> 
> _How are things in London? Any news on when Leda will be back yet?_
> 
> _I finished at the hotel last weekend. It was always going to be seasonal work, but they usually need extra staff around Christmas and New Year and have said I’ll be top of their list when the time comes._
> 
> _I started sixth form on Monday. There are a few familiar faces in my classes, although no-one I really know, and some new people too have transferred from other local schools._   
>  _There’s a guy called Jamie who is in my Law and Business classes. He’s moved here from Salisbury with his parents as they have taken over a pub in Truro. All the girls have got their eye on him already, but he seems quite shy – it’s sweet really as he’s very good looking. You’d think he’d be really up himself, but he doesn’t seem like that at all. Anyway, I’m not really looking for a boyfriend so it’s totally irrelevant._
> 
> _Have you heard from Dave? His college only started the day before yesterday. Penny called me last night and said he had settled straight in – typical Dave! Her apprenticeship has got off to a slow start. She was expecting them to have training courses organised, but it seems a bit all over the place and she’s worried she’s made the wrong decision. She’s going to give it until Christmas and decide then whether or not to stay or try something else._
> 
> _Gwen decided not to have the baby. She’s having the operation next week, and once she’s feeling up to it, she’s going to live with her Dad in Truro. She really doesn’t want to go to college and there are better job opportunities for her there. There’s been a fair bit of gossip locally too, so it’ll be good for her to get away and have a fresh start._
> 
> _Ted and Joan and Lucy are all fine. Lucy and I had a chat over the fence the other day…I think she’s still got a bit of a crush on that friend of yours that came to stay in the holidays, bless her. I told her there’s plenty more fish in the sea, but I must admit from what she said he does sound lovely. Perhaps you can introduce me sometime – hahaha!_
> 
> _That’s all my news. Hope you’re okay, write soon._
> 
> _Love,_   
>  _Ilsa xxx_
> 
> **20th September 1991**
> 
> **Dear Ilsa,**
> 
> **Happy Birthday! Hope you’re well and still enjoying college.**
> 
> **Any progress with Jamie? Don’t deny you fancy him – I can read you like a book!**
> 
> **I’m doing okay. College is good. Tutors are great on the whole and a good mix of people in my classes. Best thing is the library and computer suites are open from 8am – 6pm so I can study in peace without Whittaker. Get a feeling I’ll be spending a lot of time there!**
> 
> **Mum is back already. She and the tosser had an argument so she came home early, but they’ve bloody made up so he’s moved back in, and we’ve got another ‘house guest’ too.**
> 
> **We were on our way back from the chippie the week before last, when we came across this kid in the street, beaten up and bleeding – about the same age as us. He’d been in some sort of gang fight and come off worst. Well, you know what mum’s like for waifs and strays. She insisted he came with us, cleaned him up, fed him, and it turns out he’s virtually homeless. His mum died when he was a kid and his dad’s barely around, so she asked him to stay and he’s now sharing my room, which is bloody marvellous – not! He calls himself Shanker and is rough as fuck but he idolises mum for taking care of him and he’s already got the measure of Whittaker, who seems almost scared of him, which is hilarious.**
> 
> **So that’s my news. Tell Lucy to stop mooning over Nick and find someone her own age. I’ll definitely introduce you to him sometime though – I think you’d get on really well.**
> 
> **Only four weeks until I’m back for half term – see you then!**
> 
> **Corm x**


End file.
